Years at War: Part 3: Wizard's War
by Eristarisis
Summary: The war approaches. Harry Potter and his Legion will stand together against any and all comers. Though his war is with Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, it quickly becomes clear that his enemies are more numerous and more dangerous that he imagined. Together with the prophecies in play, his future is anything, but Harry will do what is right, over what is easy. Finished AT LAST!
1. Chapter 60 - What Makes a Man Most Dange

A/N:

Apologies to all for how this has simply DRAGGED on without updates in forever. The truth is simple and painful: This project was originally a collaborative effort between myself and my Ex-wife Emphasis on my EX-WIFE. The divorce was done two years ago but it's still been hard to bring myself back to work on this. But I don't do things half way. This is going up now, finished at long last.

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 60

What Makes a Man Most Dangerous

The core members of the Legion had met and planned, and Harry left everything in their capable hands. After everything they had been through, there was almost nothing that he did not trust the six members of the "Ministry Seven" with. But what he needed was time and space. He needed to get away. He needed, in as few words as possible, to vent his frustrations and anger before it killed him. More than that, he needed someone to talk to, but nobody alive could really understand what he had been through.

With magic at his command, it was a simple matter to change his appearance and walk in the Ministry to extract the information that he wanted. It had been simple enough to find, because nobody had thought to hide it. In all likelihood, nobody had ever gone looking for it. But he didn't trust what his eyes were telling him and he wanted it independently verified before he acted upon it.

Harry had stayed away from any form of alcohol every since he had read Fleur's last letter to him. Perhaps she would be back, perhaps not. He didn't know. He tried to convince himself that he did not care and had failed miserably. As he stepped out of the Ministry of Magic, he pulled the half squashed packet from a pocket. With a practiced motion he slapped the bottom of the pack, causing a single stick to rocket out and upwards. He caught it between his lips with ease as the pack vanished, replaced by a lighter. He cupped his hands against the gusting wind and the lower part of his face glowed in the gout of flame for an instant.

He took a long, powerful drag on the cigarette and exhaled a cloud of brackish blue smoke streaked with white. He shook his head, knowing full well that smoking was just displacement activity. It kept his hands busy and by extension himself out of trouble. Suffice to say that his temper was on shivering neck hair sensitivity. Fleur had not exactly spared him or his feelings when she had broken the half connection that she shared. He didn't blame her - at least not entirely. He accepted that, while he was ultimately responsible, all the blame could not fall squarely on his shoulders. But then, it did not really matter what he thought. All that mattered was what _she _thought.

He apparated home.

It was a little after midday when the twins knocked and strode into bedroom of the Boy-Who-Lived. It stopped them short. When he had dated Hermione, his room within The Residence had revealed a little about him, with the scattered books, neatly disorganized clothes together with a half completed homework assignment or two. Few had seen the "Inner Sanctum" he and Fleur had shared. It had been a room that the couple had not just shared, but also begun building a life together – before Harry had blasted the room to oblivion. That particular room was off limits, not even Dobby and Winky ventured in there. His new room was altogether different. It was impersonal, cold. Even though the curtains were thrown back, the sun seemed to lose, or leave, its warmth on the outside of the open window.

Fred actually thought it was, in a word, "lifeless." Every piece of furniture had been chosen to emphasize functionality and practicality.

In George's own words, "The bat git's private potions lab, with windows."

Harry looked up from his task, and took a drag on the cigarette hanging between his lips. "That's definitely a muggle thing," said Fred, "Apologies for disturbing you when you are busy polishing your wand..."

"But you did ask us to confirm and get back to you as fast as possible," continued George.

"Well?" asked Harry, as he tossed the polishing cloth into the laundry basket by the door and restored his wand to its wrist holster.

"We found it," they chorused.

"Moony was nice enough to give us an address," added George.

"And Tonks was nice enough to double check it." continued Fred, "So we're pretty sure its solid." Harry took a final drag from the cigarette and reached for the packet to extract another cigarette. Only when the new cigarette was lit and burning did he exhale, grinding the first cigarette in the charmed ashtray. It was a single continuous motion and he waved to the empty table.

The twins unrolled a map of Godric's Hollow and quickly filled Harry in on everything that they had found, which merely confirmed what he had already learned from his own poking around the Ministry archives as his alter ego. He nodded his thanks and changed the subject, "How is training progressing?"

"Fair to good," replied George, "The biggest problem is getting the timings right so that we can meet in reasonably sized groups. Already, we're having to resort to private instruction here and there to keep people on the level and on track."

"You're managing?" he interrupted.

"We are," agreed Fred, "Might we inquire what you are planning?"

Harry smirked, "The obvious." The expression conveyed no warmth or humor. He rose to his feet and then twins nodded and left. Walking out of his bedroom he gave Alnwick a mental command. The living entity of the manor brought to life the Travel Room fireplace and it began to glow a deep emerald green color. He stepped into the flames and vanished, emerging in the Leaky Cauldron. With a nod to Tom, Harry slipped in an alley and grabbed the nearest piece of reasonably clean, odor free garbage, "Portus."

The bicycle tire glowed blue for several seconds as he fixed his mind on his destination, using the map and photographs the Twins had provided. The Portkey charm took hold on the object and moments later he vanished.

The portkey trip ended with an abrupt suddenness as he felt himself suddenly dumped on the sidewalk. He rolled back to his feet and almost drew his wand when he realized what had happened: There were basic wards in place that would have been a momentary hindrance to even a half competent wizard. They were unraveling, he realized as he watched the tendrils of magic fade away: Nobody had recharged them, probably since that fateful night some fifteen years ago. "The ones who give their lives to vanquish Voldemort have never been properly honored," he thought darkly, "Useless bastards."

He gave himself a moment to orient himself, and then set off down the street. There had never been any doubt as to the extensive wealth of the Potter Family, or that theirs was "old money" of the oldest sort. Where other families had opted for lavish mansions and manor houses, the Potters had opted for a real home that was just a house in your average neighborhood, quite literally hiding in plain sight, much as Grimauld Place was.

The thought of Grimmauld Place reminded him of Sirius, and how he had spent his last year free, yet hiding in plain sight. He wished he could have done something different, made a real difference in his godfather's life. The guilt was still there, was still strong enough to draw a tear to his eye. He shook his head, and looked up to the sky for a moment.

Simple charms had repelled the muggles for over a decade. With the house both out of their sights and mind, they never had any reason to question the "vacant" plot of land that was quite literally in the center of their community. While the house itself was shielded, Harry suspected that the grounds and garden were not, simply because the wards were unraveling.

The gardens were overgrown with long, tall grasses, as well as weeds that were almost waist high. Stopping at the edge of the property, he frowned, "Homenum revelio," he muttered, confirming that there was nobody but himself, a few owls in the rafters and a long abandoned fox den. He stepped over the property line and began clearing away the long grasses with waves of his wand. According to the twins and his own research, they should be somewhere here.

He had planned to this for a year, but meeting Fleur had changed, or at least put this particular journey of discovery on hold. He just had not counted on how much it would hurt, seeing the two rectangular pieces of stone, side by side. He wondered how it was possible for him to hurt even more than he already did as something forced him to stare at the headstones, rereading the inscriptions over and over, almost afraid that they would change between one reading and the next:

James Potter

Husband, Father, Son

Lily Potter

Wife, Mother, Daughter

More than one person had noticed the single braid of hair that had grown long enough to flick behind his ear. More than one person had noticed the beginnings of a second braid on the same side, barely a few inches in length. It was as if Harry was keeping score on the failures of his personal life. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to have dark circles of their own. Not previously known for his warmth and gaiety, most would have said that Harry had a sense of humor. But now he was diamond hard, refusing all attempts to lighten his load. The scars carved into his soul were hidden from the world, perhaps too well, but the scars to his flesh - those that others saw at any rate - made clear that the wizarding world was, is, a terrifying place.

Himself, he felt nothing. Cold. Empty. He was going through the motions of live and living, but without purpose or meaning. His heart was heavy in his chest as a tsunami of emotional pain threatened to drown him in despair and he collapsed to his knees between the two headstones. No matter how hard he gritted his teeth, he could not keep the tears from falling. The sobs he fought to contain broke through those same clenched teeth, choked out against his will.

Realization, in the harsh rays of the setting sun's light made it clear: He was broken.

His parents, Cedric, Hermione, Xenophilius, the Creeveys, his godfather, his daughter, and Fleur… Everything, everyone he had let close to him had wound up like his parent. Two things he had wanted all his life, he had never had, but at least had something of them, sort of. He stared at the matching headstones. He swore quietly to himself, slamming his fist in to the ground as he brought himself under control with a series of deep breaths. He wiped his tears away hastily and stared for a few moments more. He struggled to find the right words, but then he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say.

"So many have died because of me," he whispered, "And more are going to die in this war, until I kill Voldemort. It's just not fair," he muttered, "You didn't deserve to die, none of them did..." he traced their names with his finger. There was a distant rumble: Thunder. Acting on a reflex he was not even aware of, he found himself clenching the headstones, one in each hand.

"Mom, Dad," he whispered, "I know that there's something beyond... here. I've not seen it, but I can believe that there is something... there... wherever there is. I'm hoping that you've already met Hermione..." He reached in to his pocket and pulled a small box from his pocket.

There was a soft, pitter patter as rain began to fall, "Aimee... her mother is out of the picture," he extracted the small piece of stone and enlarged it, carefully placing the slab of marble next to the pair of headstones, "But you already knew that...and you've probably met your granddaughter, Aimee." A few carefully cast charms saw the new addition take root in the ground, "I'm hoping one day that her mother and I might... work things out."

It took several minutes to do the same with a second. Neither had a grave, or a coffin, but the headstones were enough. They would have to be enough. He shook slightly as he straightened up, "I hope that you're all happy together, a… family of sorts." He took a step back to study the latest additions to the garden, "It gives me, strength, I suppose, knowing that you are all beyond harm's reach forever, and while it gives me strength, and courage knowing that you're all watching..."

He hesitated, not sure how to put the request in to words. He turned his face skywards, letting the raindrops pelt his face and slide down his cheeks like the tears he refused to shed, "Light and Darkness are always at odds, as a means to preserve the balance, and no matter how far the scales tip in one direction, they will always tip the other way." he said, "The problem is, Light and Dark are extremes, and I'm going to have to walk through those grey areas where not all is light or dark."

He ran his fingers through the inscription on his daughter's headstone, "I have done... things. Killed men and women," his fingers traced through the other headstone, that bore the name of his first love, Hermione Granger, "No matter their allegiances or beliefs, they were, they are the sons, daughters, fathers, sisters, mothers, brothers of somebody else, possibly somebody innocent."

He took a breath and steadied himself, "I am a killer. And I'm going to kill so many more. I'm going to make killers out of children, who should be worried about boyfriends, girlfriends, OWLs and NEWTs. I should ask for strength to see this through, but I'd rather ask for forgiveness, for what I'm going to do, to my friends, to my enemies even."

"What I'm going to do," he repeated softly, "Whatever happens, please don't think less of me." He sat there, not caring as the rain soaked him to the bone. A charm could have kept him warm and dry, but he didn't bother. The cold. The chill. He wanted to feel it. Needed to feel it. He watched the sun dip beneath the horizon. He was cold, uncomfortable. It was nice to be able to feel... something. His eyes slid close, almost against his will but he found that he didn't have the energy to make himself care.

He woke with a start. At some point the rain had stopped. But more importantly, was the hand gently running down his cheek. He recognized the touch almost instantly as his eyes snapped open. She smiled at him, and wiped away a single tear, "Hello love." Her voice haunted his dreams and was the source of his nightmares, and now she was standing before him. He pulled back from her touch, rising to his feet, wand outstretched as he took a most careful aim, "Its ok," she said softly, soothingly.

"I've either died, and gone to heaven," he said, "Or I'm dreaming, and wishing I was dead."

She shook her head, "Given the way things are, you know you can't die just yet. You made a deal with Death..."

"And nobody cheats Death of his due," agreed Harry as he lowered his wand, "Seriously, I am dreaming?"

"I'm Sirius, you're Harry," interjected another voice, "And yeah. You could call this a dream, but considering you passed out in the rain in the garden of your parent's home in Godric's Hollow, most would say it's a hallucination brought on by overexposure to cold." Harry turned to find his Godfather standing just a few steps behind, wearing exactly the same robes he had worn the night of the Ministry debacle, "Alright pup?"

Harry shrugged, and gave a bitter sounding laugh, "Could be better," he said candidly, "But you both already know that." He stated it as a fact, not a question. The pair of...people standing before him said nothing at that remark. They stared at each for a long moment and Sirius finally interrupted them with a discreet cough.

"We're here, to pass you some information," he said quietly, "About Horcruxes, so that you can uphold your bargain with Death."

Harry nodded, "You made a bargain with Death to be the messengers?"

Hermione shook her head, "No. Death... he gave me this... chance to... tell you a few things. But business first," She nodded to Sirius.

Harry turned his attention to his godfather who began to speak, "Voldemort created six Horcruxes. You are, or were, the seventh, created by accident the night he murdered your parents and tried to kill you." Sirius tapped the scar on his godsons forehead, "That leaves another six."

"Five," corrected Harry, "A Diary, from Vauxhall Road in London. I destroyed that during my second year. So where are the last five Horcruxes?"

"Death knows only the current locations of these.. things, and Voldemort will move them if he learns that you," he smiled, "Well, you and the Legion, are hunting them." His godfather gave him a look that Harry had never seen before: One of complete and utter seriousness: "Harry, if you don't uphold your end of the bargain, your soul is forfeit... same as a Dementor's kiss..."

Harry nodded. He'd figured that part on his own already, "Get on with it." Sirius spoke, and Harry listened as Sirius went down the list: The Gaunt Ring. Hufflepuff's Cup. Ravenclaw's Diadem. Slytherin's Locket. "The last of them is Nagini... Voldemort's familiar. Where Nagini is, Voldemort is, protected by charms and enchantments, including the Fidilius..."

"The dead can see through that but the living can't," said Hermione, "The fundamental laws of magic themselves mean that we cannot tell you, even though we know." She smiled sadly, "Doing what is right, is never easy."

"And one last thing: Dumbledore knows. He's had his suspicions and he has been trying to get rid of them for years. He's close to locating the ring, and he thinks he's close to the locket. My job here's done," said Sirius, "Harry, I've got to go. But before I do, you need to know that Moony... I did everything I could for the Legion, not because it was right. Well, not just because it was right, but because it was something I could do for you. I only wish I could have done more..."

"Sirius," Harry cut him off with a sharp gesture, "You did more than I imagined possible. I only wish that we could have had more time to... get to know each other more, as individuals... family."

"I know," he smiled and shrugged, "But as they say, "them's the break kid." He pulled his godson in to a hug, "I love you. Your parents love you. When the time comes we'll be waiting. All of us." They pulled apart, "I'm gonna give you two a few minutes alone. Good bye Harry. Good luck."

The couple watched Sirius Black, friend, Legionnaire, godfather and perhaps most importantly, family walk away. Within a matter of seconds, he began to disappear. For the first time, Harry noticed that they were standing on soft sand... beach sand unless he was mistaken. It was like he was apparating in slow motion, until all that was left was his foot prints. Moments later, even those he left behind vanished. He was gone.

"So," said Harry.

"So," she replied.

He stared at her. Her robes were a simple off-white, cream or pearl color, but he could not stop staring at her. Her hair was as wild and untamed as ever. Her eyes reflected the same soul he remembered. "Do you have to go?" he asked quietly.

"Afraid that I have to," she replied, "and soon." Gently, she took his hand in her own, "I want you to know that I don't hate you and that I understand, about you and Fleur and Aimee. You deserve to be happy. I only wish that you could have had it... that..."

"We could have shared the same happiness?" he asked quietly.

"If things had been different, we would have," she agreed readily, "But them's the breaks," she said in a near perfect impression of Sirius.

"What's it like?" he asked, "Beyond this... life?" she hesitated, "Death told me... its good there. I don't need to know the specifics, the details… I want to know that you, that everyone is safe, happy."

"Blue skies, green fields, the sun shines, the rain smells of spring. It's a peaceful, happy place where you only have good memories to relive. I could call it heaven, but everyone's idea of heaven is a little different. After all, everyone has a different idea of happiness and what heaven should be like."

"Do I..." his grip tightened slightly, "will I have a place there, in heaven?"

"Surrounded by family and friends," she said, "You fight against a lunatic who can never be satisfied, not until the entire world is his. He'll purge it of life and leave nothing but a barren wasteland behind him. You will do what you have to do, and will earn a place in the Light, and in heaven. Not just for yourself, but for the every Legionnaire that stands against the Dark. "

"Will you be there?" the words came out awkward, wrong even. What he really wanted to ask, he wasn't sure he had the right to ask of her. But then again, Hermione Granger still knew him better than any human ever could.

She pulled him in to a hug, and kissed him, gently, "I'll be waiting for you, my love." They just held each other, and she felt real. Warm. Alive. That was the word to describe the way she felt. She looked at something, over his shoulder and he knew that her time was up, that she had to leave, "Harry, I have to go." He didn't let go, "Remember, I'll see you in your dreams, before we will be together again."

She turned to smoke and dust in his arms, but she was still there, she was still real, "Remember," she vanished, become a twisting trail of grey smoke. Her voice echoed upon the wind, "I'll be waiting, right here for you, my love."

His eyes sprang open. It was the middle of the night. It had stopped raining. It was cold. But then, he was soaked by the rain, and he was still leaning against his daughter's headstone. He rose slowly, his limbs protesting against the movement as he dusted himself off, and then dried and cleaned his clothes before casting a warming charm upon himself. He stared down at the quartet of headstones, "I... should be going," he said, "I know you're watching. I know you can hear me," he hesitated, "Don't watch what I do... just, be there to pull me back."

He had carried the burdens of these few deaths for so long that finally coming to face with them all was something of a relief. They were gone. There was nothing he could do to bring them back.

He drew Hermione's wand, and walked the perimeter of the property, taking time to carefully draw out its boundaries. It was a slow process, one of many minutes, but he didn't mind, taking the time to do it right. The incantation took only a few minutes. The house, its grounds, everything up to the property line shimmered in gold for a few long moments before vanishing completely from view, forever hidden from all but those few he would reveal it to as he spoke the final words of the incantation in Latin, "I will keep this secret."

It was dark, the street deserted as Harry activated the Portkey, beginning the first leg of his trip back to the Manor. But he was more at peace, happier even, as the Fidilius Charm protected the final resting place of Lily and James Potter, Aimee Delacour Potter, and Hermione Granger, who should have been "Hermione Potter" if things had been a little different. But what was more important than all of that was that Harry Potter would stand and fight.

Nothing in the world can make a person, man or woman, more dangerous than having something to fight for and nothing to lose, all at the same time.


	2. Chapter 61 - You Get What You Negotiate

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 61

You Get What You Negotiate

When Harry returned to his Manor, he didn't announce his return but simply strolled in the training room - one of them. At any given time, there were at least a dozen of the Legion in training, and he could only watch and smile with near paternalistic pride as Cho Chang single handedly tag teamed the Patil sisters and left them unconscious on the floor. Across the room, he noted absently a number of students just covering the basics of hand to hand combat against both wanded and unwanded opponents.

"Harry," said Griphook politely, without turning around "Sneaking up on your banker?"

"Still trying to," replied Harry with a snort, "They are doing well?"

The Goblin nodded, "They are indeed. But I wonder what you plan to do with so many... skilled individuals. You have more than warriors here Harry. Healers, crafters, artificers," the Goblin shook his head, "If the rest of your world was even half as dedicated as these child... young people," he corrected himself, "then Voldemort would probably never have gained the power he had during the First War."

Harry watched Firenze defend against four attackers, using nothing but the massive two handed Great Sword that he had used on Umbridge and her cronies during the aborted Astronomy exam. The Centaur had adapted well enough, given that the expansive grounds of the manor did have their own forest, albeit a small one when compared to the depths of Hogwart's Forbidden Forest. "You once told me that the more you sweat in training; the less you bleed in battle."

"A muggle expression that cuts very close to the truth," he agreed, "But there is no way to test how truly ready any of them are – except for those that accompanied you to the Ministry," he added, "Battle is the only true test that matters."

"Like that other muggle saying you're fond of quoting, "Drills are bloodless combat, and combat's just a bloody drill." grunted Harry, "I'd like to see progress reports as soon as possible." He left the training room, "And gather the Core, we have a war to win and a campaign to plan."

Harry spent several hours reviewing the progress reports and was gratified to see that every member of the Legion would have no doubt scored "Outstanding" or "Exceeded Expectations" in the OWLs, and it was distinctly possible that the Legionnaires facing their NEWTS would do the same. If it was anything to go by, they could all sit and pass at least Charms, Defense and Transfiguration. Others would no doubt pass other subjects including Potions, Runes, and even the nightmare of Arithmancy.

It was definitely something to consider for the future…. He scrawled a note on the piece of parchment by his right hand. All in all, every member of the Legion was as close to battle ready as training could make them, and all they needed now, he thought darkly was their final examination. He was staring out the window behind his desk when there was a knock at his door. "Enter."

They took their regular seats around the table and waited for a long few moments. Dobby and Winky appeared, serving coffee, tea, iced pumpkin juice to whoever wanted it, as well as Scotch to both Griphook and Harry. Mad Eye declined, opting to take a drink from his hip flask. Firenze was the only one to take plain water, "Is everyone up to speed on where we stand?" Silence answered him. Everyone knew. It was a stupid question perhaps, but there was no reason to leave anything to chance.

"The first thing we have to do is gather the Legion, in full strength, and get everyone," he stressed, "everyone on board with what we are doing."

"You're planning on making a statement, or on sending a message?" asked Luna.

"Can't we do both?" countered Neville.

"That would depend on whether we can get the information we need," replied Colin, "We get the info we need, we take out some Death Eaters, and we send a clear message to everyone."

"But what message are we sending?" asked Ginny, "That we will kill them all? We could send the wrong message if we're not careful."

"We send the only message that they could possibly understand," said Colin with a growl, "The only Death Eater we will leave behind, is a dead one." Suffice to say that the loss of his family had hardened him and in many ways made him a cold, unfeeling person, with Luna as the only point of softness in his life. Nearly losing her during the Department of Mysteries battle had made him realize just how important she was to him, and he had made a silent vow that it would never happen: That he would not wind up like Harry.

"What you are forgetting," interrupted Griphook, "Is that the Death Eaters have the advantage of numbers. What we have been able to piece together, from your collective memories of the battle of the Department of Mysteries, is based upon a single verbal clue, spoken by Lucuis Malfoy. He referred to them as "Effingus."

"It literally means "copy" or "duplicate." But given the context," began Fred.

"We think it has got something to do with muggle science, something called "cloning," that allows them to create a copy of any living thing." explained George.

"You mean they are copying or... what was the word, cloning? Themselves or each other?" asked Ginny.

"Your allies within the Ministry have provided us with copies of everything that they have on file, and it all, unfortunately, points in that direction," said Marinashka quietly. "And I've seen the four Lucius Malfoy's in custody, not to mention the near innumerable number of Carrow twins, and the six Percy Weasleys." The only reason she had been granted access was because she was Harry's lawyer.

"We're a small community," growled Moody, "especially when you compare the size of our wizarding population to that of America or Australia. Azkaban is running out of room, and even the few Dementors left," he shrugged, "Let's just say the Azkaban Guards are having a hell of a time maintaining order."

"So our first priority will be to find these effingus and neutralize them. Take away their advantage of numbers, and we can fight a more even battle," said Harry quietly, "Any other business to attend to?"

"There is the matter of the Prophet," began Griphook, "With the new staff in place, the wizarding public is getting the truth for the first time in over a decade. Coupled with the Quibbler, we have powerful tools at our disposal."

"Control the media control the mind," said Luna, "That's basically what the Ministry has done for years."

"No," said Harry firmly, "We stick to the truth, and nothing else. Our war may be with Voldemort and his Death Eaters," he hesitated, "and quite possibly the Ministry too. We need the public to support us because they choose to. Not because they have been brainwashed in to doing it."

"You have to consider…" began Griphook.

"I have!" he snapped. He blinked, "Sorry, I have. If we do what the ministry does, if we fall to the level of our enemies, then we're no better than them. I have thought about this, and I don't see another way." He shrugged, ""Loyalty and Honor, before profit" after all…" The table fell silent as everyone present mulled over his words. "I will not have us resorting to their tactics," he echoed, "At least, not yet," he finally conceded. If everything did go to hell in a hand basket, then high minded ethics would not matter anymore. Winning would be all that mattered. If they didn't win, then it wouldn't matter either. "Does anyone else have any old business? Any new business?"

Silence reigned, "Then there is something that we need to address: Horcruxes." He spent half an hour explaining exactly what they were and how many existed, how many had been destroyed and how. Griphook raised an eyebrow at the revelation that one of the items was in the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange.

But Harry left out one crucial piece of information: That he had been a Horcrux. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that every individual seated at the table had his absolute trust and confidence, but there were some things that you just did not share with anyone, ever. His dubious honor as a former Horcrux was the first, in what he hoped would be a very short list of such secrets.

"Harry," said Griphook slowly, "The cup is most likely still in her vault – given the seizure and forfeiture when you cut the legs out from under the Daily Prophet – I cannot grant you access to the vault, and it is unlikely that you can gain legal access to the vault."

Harry and the Goblin stared at each other for a long moment as the wheels in Harry's mind spun and finally found traction. "I presume that the vault is one of the older vaults, perhaps a double digit vault, much like the Potter Family Vault?"

He nodded cautiously, but Marinashka intervened, "We cannot give out any information, even if it is information that pertains to the vault and accounts of a… former customer."

Harry smiled, "You misunderstand me. I merely wish to know what exactly the security precautions upon the Potter Family Vault are, in detail. After all, it stands to reasons that there would be few vaults as well protected as that." The Goblin couple looked at each other for a long moment and finally Marinashka nodded, and excused herself from the room to use the bathroom.

When the door clicked shut behind her, Griphook gave Harry a critical stare, one that teenaged wizard could read well enough, "Of course the first line of defense is the vault itself: The doors will only open with the blood of the owner, or with a Goblin's blood. Of course, vaults such as those of families of your standing are protected by all manner of enchantments."

"Such as?" prompted Harry

"The Thieves' Downfall," said Griphook, "It will strip away all forms of concealment including charms, or enchanted objects - before the cart automatically derails. After that, there is the dragon that guards the only pathway to the vaults themselves."

"They don't do things by half," thought Neville darkly as he fingered his drink.

"We also have regular patrols, with Kerashaws..." said Griphook quietly.

"What?" asked Ginny, "What's a Kerashaw?"

"It's a bit like a dog crossed with an armadillo, with the teeth and claws of a dragon," supplied Luna, "Sharp eyes, sharper teeth and claws, even sharper sense of smell."

"Terrific," muttered Colin as he took another swig of his butter beer.

"Anything within the vaults themselves?" asked Fred.

The goblin smiled, "Yes. We use a number of curses: Gemino and Flagrante are standard. The curses are built into the very stone used to build the vault, as well as anti-portkey and apparation wards. The blood of their owner can deactivate the wards upon the door, allowing access to the vault. But the rest of the wards around a vault do not deactivate, limiting exposure, even while the door is open."

"Meaning?" prompted Harry and George.

"Goblins of Gringotts may only add items to a vault. Never remove them. This is why we always take our customers to their vaults to make a withdrawal unless alternative arrangements have been made." He smiled darkly, "Do not ask how inter-vault transfers are made. You do not want to know."

"Griphook, did you bring a copy of my godfather's will?" Harry asked suddenly, changing the topic with all the subtlety of a Cruciatus curse to the head.

The Goblin shook his head, "It will take about two hours to locate it," he said and stood, "By your leave…" Harry nodded and Griphook rose to his feet, "I will return with Marinashka, and with the will."

The door clicked shut and Griphook found himself face to face with his second wife. She met his gaze and wordless fell in step beside him as they made their way to the travel room, "What is he planning husband?" she asked quietly.

"I believe that he is planning the obvious," replied Griphook, "We will have to make certain arrangements."

"To assist him?" she asked quietly.

He nodded, "Our knowledge of the Prophecies, of our own Farseer, and that of the witch Sybill Trelawney makes clear that events are in motion. Harry, will do what he must, as must we, if there is to be a future left to inherit."

"You believe then, that the end time is fast approaching?"

"The muggles have an invention that they call the Doomsday Clock. It is said amongst their kind that when the clock strikes Midnight, the end time will be upon their kind. Given the state of their world, they have set this clock to read "11:46" in the evening."

"They think they have so much time before the ends times are upon them?" she said with a somewhat bemused expression. "His confidence in his friends, borders upon the astonishing. He shares details of his life, and vault with them, without a seconds' though to the consequences."

"It is heartening that he has friends he can trust and rely on to such an extreme," agreed Griphook, "But Harry does nothing without having considered all possible outcomes of his actions. He is very well prepared for nearly every eventuality – even betrayal most foul."

He reached for a handful of Floo powder, "Gringotts!" he barked and vanished in the cloud of green flame. Moments later, there was a second burst of green flames as Marinashka followed. Alnwick had watched and once he was certain that the Floo was clear, the flames doused themselves and the fireplace sealed itself up as the door to the room closed and locked itself.

Satisfied that the Travel Room was secure, Alnwick scanned the wards, grounds and house once more and then reported directly to Harry that they were alone in the Potter Manor. Harry had gotten the idea for Alnwick from Hogwarts herself, and Alnwick was the equivalent of Rowena in many ways except that Alnwick was completely slaved to Harry's will, and perhaps would one day also serve others within Harry's inner circle. Harry acknowledged the report and turned to his friends, "Right then, I'm pretty sure you all know what's coming. Those who don't want anything to do with this, leave the room now."

They knew exactly what was about to be discussed. It was Colin who spoke, quietly, but firmly, "After all this, do you actually have to ask?" he shrugged, "I stand ready."

Holding her boyfriend's hand, Luna echoed her boyfriends' words, "I stand ready." It went round the table, and ended with the Weasely Twins.

"We stand ready," they chorused. Harry nodded, "But Harry, like Colin said: Do you have to ask?"

"We'll follow you. Now and always. If we have doubts, we'll say something, otherwise…." began George.

"We're with you till the end," continued Fred.

"Any bloody end," confirmed George.

They discussed, planned, schemed and strategized for over an hour, and came up with what they hoped would be a survivable plan – especially since what they were planning had only been attempted once – successfully – in the history of Gringotts. "Just remember," said Harry, "We are going in blind. No maps, no guides, nothing. We're on our own from the moment it begins, to the moment it's done, and if you're captured…"

"We know the risks," said Neville, ending all discussion on the matter, his quiet voice somehow lending weight to his conviction, "And they will not take me alive if it comes to it. The only question is when we do this."

"As soon as possible," replied Harry. He flinched, and nodded, "So what are the chances of the Tornado's winning the League this year?" There was a firm knock at the door, and the door swung open to admit Harry's Goblin banker and lawyer, with the last will and testament of Sirius Orion Black.

There was a moment of silence, as Griphook sat down, and as was the manner of any goblin, got straight to the point, "The formal reading of the last will and testament of Sirius Orion Black, Lord of the House of Black, has been scheduled for two in the afternoon, this coming Saturday. I trust that you will be in attendance." Harry nodded firmly, "In my capacity as Senior Accounts Manager, I give you this copy," he placed a vial upon the table, and slid it smoothly towards Harry, "For you to peruse at a time that suits your convenience."

The teenager pocketed the small glass phial, filled with the silvery, fluid like substance without a word as Marinashka addressed them all, "Unless there are any other matters to discuss, we have a private matter to discuss with Mr. Potter." A nod from Harry cleared the room, leaving him alone with the two individuals he trusted the most.

"Yes?"

"Harry, as your lawyer, and as your friend, I have to ask: What are you planning?"

Harry sighed, "I take it that there is no way the Goblin High Council will even consider giving me access to the Lestrange vault to recover the Horcrux?" They both confirmed that it would never happen, unless Harry could do something that would get the entire Council to not only sit up, but to take notice and acknowledge it. "You once said to me, that in business, you don't get what you deserve, you get what you negotiate."

"This is true," agreed Griphook.

"Then it is safe to say that negotiations have failed. I'm planning the obvious." The conversation meandered on to several unimportant and unrelated topics, and it was just before dinner time when the Goblins finally left, and Harry was left alone with his thoughts yet again. He found himself absent mindedly turning the Legion ring upon his finger and finally sent a message to the others.

They gathered together in the training room and within seconds, the enchantment schemes were activated. They found themselves standing in Diagon Alley, only it was a Diagon Alley where battle had clearly been raging for some time: Shops were damaged, several were burnt out husks. The bodies of men women and children were scattered. It was in a few words, terrifying. It was not just the sights, but the sounds and incredibly the smells. Ash, blood, burnt, and burning. The metallic taste of copper, the greasy taste of death, the tingle in the air when an incredible number of spells have been unleashed in a short space of time.

"You can smell it, taste it, hear it, feel it," said Harry quietly, "Welcome to the first of twenty different combat scenarios under "Armageddon." He scanned their faces, "These are the ultimate, worst case scenarios, and your opponents will be trying to incapacitate you, and if they can, kill you. Most of the Legion are not yet ready. Some of them are. Let's see how far we get." He flexed his wrist and the wand sprang in to his hand, "Defensive positions!"

The training dummies were no longer blocks of wood, but looked like Death Eaters, in hoods, with robes and masks, and they advanced down the street towards the seven witches and wizards. There was no hesitation as the Legionnaires took aim and unleashed their first spells of the engagement.

The spell fire was fast and furious, and Harry had not lied when he said that the training dummies were out for blood, perhaps even determined to kill. Every single one of them was injured by the end of it. Bloodied, bruised, sporting cuts, gashes and abrasions. Only Colin and Ginny had avoided being knocked unconscious, and that was more by luck than by skill. Luna had been enervated twice, Harry himself had needed to heal fractures to his left leg and arm when a bludgeoning curse had almost permanently removed him from the fight.

Exhausted for the night, Harry knew none of them would have any difficulty falling asleep, not even him, as he slid in to bed. He stared up at the ceiling and was not even aware when a crushing wave of tired darkness slammed down upon him, his aching muscles and assortment of injuries saw him fall asleep within seconds, for the first time in several long weeks.

He opened his eyes, and stared up in to the eyes he could never forget, "I'm dreaming again, aren't I?"

"Yeah," she said quietly, "You probably are."

Wherever they were looked strangely familiar. He could not quite put his finger on it, but shrugged. It didn't matter, "Why are you here?" he asked quietly.

She laughed, "Because you can't got forwards," she replied seriously, "You're stuck, in neutral."

He disagreed, "We're going after the Horcruxes, and perhaps we'll find a way to even the numbers so we can take the Death Eaters on toe-to-toe. We're moving ahead."

"We are," she agreed, "You're not." he recognized that particular tone: The one that brooked no nonsense, and required a discussion.

"I'm not," he said, "But then, seeing you like this, makes it a lot harder to go forward... makes being stuck in neutral a nice place to be. In that bloody castle, I see you out of the corner of my eye, every other minute and every five steps I take. No one can replace you. And it's not fair to ask that of any woman: To have to play second fiddle to you. None should have to deal with that."

"Fleur could," she said quietly, pressing forward even as he shook his head, ever so slightly from side to side. It was the classic Harry Potter headshake, the one that meant "discuss that topic at your own risk." he clamped down on his emotions. Hard. That was something he had yet to deal with, at all. "She loved you, because of who you are. You fought, and bled and killed for her. All of you did..."

"And her life was bought with our daughter's life," he said bitterly, "She walked away from me. She can't look at me without hating me... I can't say that I blame her you know? There's nothing I can do for her, and nothing I can do for me!" He turned away from Hermione, "I know you love me, and I know you come back to be with me, for me. But this has to stop. I can't go forward if you keep coming back and keep me stuck in neutral."

"I can't believe it," she said, "Using logic and reason against me, and winning?" she teased. He raised an eyebrow in her direction and she laughed, holding up her hands to indicate surrender, "But are you sure you want me to go... on? If I go, I can't come back."

"I'll wait for you," he replied, "If you'll do the same."

"In that case, I'll be waiting for you," she said with a sigh, "Do you want me to tell anyone anything?" she was already facing away from him, staring off into the distance. He knows what she sees, even though he can't see it himself: Some light, a doorway perhaps, beyond wherever they are.

"Tell Sirius that he had better be pranking everyone he meets, and tell my parents that I love them." Already looking away from her, he took a single step forward, "And never forget how much I love you Hermione." He strode away, slowly, determined not to look back over his shoulder.

She heard him walking away, the slow steady stride of one determined not to look back. She understands. She really does. She mirrors him after all, walking towards the light, and what lies beyond.

In his manor, Harry Potter rolled over and wakes up, and through blurry eyes, stares out through the open window. It's too early for him to be awake, yet too late for him to go back to sleep. Struggling out of bed, and the blanket that had somehow coiled itself around him, he changed his clothes, opting for light track pants and a t-shirt before heading out on to the grounds of the manor, to begin grinding through another day.

She had watched him fade away this time, his consciousness returning to his body. She didn't know where she was - at least not really. She felt the presence next to her, "He is strong." It was a typical entry for a person, or thing that had introduced herself as Destiny, "But you are doing what is best for him, by letting him go on."

"That doesn't make it... any easier," she replied turning to face the woman standing next to her.

"It doesn't," she agreed. "But, at least you know what is coming, he will have someone there for him, if you do your part right..." Destiny sighed, "It should have been you. Not her. It should be you, standing alongside him, ready to take on the world together."

Hermione seemed, amused, "The Angel of Destiny, unable to foresee the future?"

"I see the future, I see its peaks and valleys, the Golden Ages and the Dark Ages. The road between them is often murky. I had not seen foreseen the consequences of Wormtail's escape, nor the role of Barty Crouch Junior impersonating Alistor Moody." She shrugged, "I have the sight, but it is not perfect - I am or rather still am mostly human after all."

"Who would have thought," mused Hermione, "that I would be believing in divination?" she turned to her erstwhile companion, "But it must be difficult, trying to untangle all those threads to find the right one."

"It can be," agreed Destiny. There was a flash of flame and Fawkes appeared, seating himself carefully upon her shoulder, "I believe our time here, is at an end."

"For now," replied Hermione as she started to walk towards the light in the distance, "But we will see each other again, won't we?"

"If events unfold as I have foreseen, yes. Otherwise, who knows?" Destiny called after the retreating figure of Hermione. The phoenix trilled softly, "Yes, I agree with you. It should not be this way. Come Fawkes, I must return to Hogwarts."


	3. Chapter 62 - The Heist

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 62

The Heist

Seven teenagers sat and stared at Gringotts. It was just before dusk, the street was crowded with shoppers, all of whom were lost in their own little worlds and routines, seemingly indifferent to the coming storm. They pretended well, but at the back of every mind was the fear of Voldemort, of his Death Eaters and of what was to come.

They were protected by seven different charms to ensure that they would be unobserved and unnoticed by everyone, and with an intricate glamour charm, it made the interior of the small coffee shop appear empty. Such was their confidence in their charms and spell work, that they did not bother hiding that they had... less than legal intentions.

They were identically dressed in black, over which they wore basilisk hide armor. Their street clothes were lying in neat piles close at hand. They went over the plan one final time, donned their street clothes and exited the shop. They walked up the stairs, talking and laughing as if everything was right with the world and through the double doors, into Gringotts.

Given the lateness of the hour, there were fewer tellers on duty, but the number of guards - at least visible guards - remained the same. Harry calmly walked up to the nearest teller and presented the key for his vault, "Blaghrast-diedom," said Harry, "I wish to access my vault."

The Goblin behind the counter blinked twice, and immediately summoned another Goblin to facilitate access to his vault. They followed the Goblin down, until they reached what looked like, and was an underground train station, with carts waiting for use, and tracks leading out in almost every direction imaginable. They looked round, and wordlessly, they spread out, as Harry gathered his magic and unleashed it from his left hand, "Imperio!"

The goblin stutter stepped, before freezing in mid stride. Satisfied that he had sufficient control over the Goblin, Harry nodded and the six teens began placing small charges on all of the carts they could find, as well as several different sets of tracks.

The Imperius Curse, along with the Cruciatus and Avada Kedevra, were classed as unforgivable in 1777, and had been used extensively by the Death Eaters for all manner of unpleasant activities that ranged from the simple suicidal assassination mission to forcing people to torture, rape and kill their close friends and family, leaving the survivors to pick up the metaphorical - and oftentimes literal - pieces. Of course, the Imperius Curse could be and had been used for all manner of other purposes before, just as Harry was doing now: Maintaining control over his... target, forcing him to do nothing.

But it was a battle of wills, one that Harry knew he was losing. Time was against them all. They piled into the cart and Harry grit his teeth as he forced the Goblin to take them to the former vault of one Bellatrix "The Mad Bitch" Lestrange. The Goblins had not hesitated to claim the contents for themselves under Harry's more than generous proposal that had won him the shares necessary to buy out the Daily Prophet, but the tables were now turned: The Horcrux was in the vault, and this was the only way that they could get it. Not only had diplomacy failed, but there had never even been any form of negotiation. After all, in any business one only gets what they negotiate, not what one requires.

The cart trundled along its track; they passed through a number of active dig sites where the Goblins were busy harvesting the raw treasures from the depths of the earth. Their speed was simply incredibly as they dropped deeper in to the planet. Harry gritted his teeth, tightening his hold upon the Goblin's thoughts, to ensure that he kept them on course. Finally, after several long minutes, they could see the water fall that cascaded over a number of different tracks. The Thieves Downfall, they realized. This was the proverbial it moment.

They plunged headlong through the curtain of water, felt it splash and soak their clothes, almost down to the bone. It felt wet but at the same time strangely different, almost as if it was a mixture of oil and water or something that made the water seem hot and cold all at once. It made Ginny's skin crawl, Neville felt as if he was on the receiving end of a dozen mild stinging hexes. Everyone felt something different. For Harry, it felt like a sensation of peace and calm, the likes of which he had never known.

Suddenly, they had passed through, and the cart's direction shifted rapidly, going down at what seemed like an impossibly steep angle. Were it not for the charms built into the cart to prevent it, they would have probably been thrown clear by the sudden change in direction and the rapidity of their descent. Several long minutes passed, and then the cart slowed and they began to level out and finally came to a halt.

"I can't keep him under," grunted Harry, "He's strong…"

"Plan B?" suggested Fred.

"Not yet," said Harry, "I can keep him for a… couple of more minutes…. Just keep a stunner at the ready!"

With a nod from Fred, they began casting a suite of charms over themselves and everyone else in the group: Chameleon charms caused them to fade from sight, blending in almost perfectly with the rough rock walls of the cavern. Silencing charms ensured their footfalls and themselves made no noise. "Hop test!" said Fred.

No doubt they were all grateful that they were invisible to each other. Otherwise the sight of seven teenagers hopping on the spot, in the middle of Gringotts, with a Goblin under the Imperius would have seemed a lot more humorous. However ridiculous it might have looked, it served a genuine purpose. The hopping revealed – as it always did – that something on somebody was not silenced: The metallic clink came from somebody at the back of their formation, while the swish of fabric had come from Luna. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to cast a charm while maintaining an Imperious, was not something he was looking forward to even attempting.

"Wands ready, watch your spacing," said Harry, "Let's get this done."

They moved, following the unfortunately Goblin who led the way – not that they really needed his guidance at that moment: The smell of burning, of char and sooty ash filled their nostrils: The dragon was ahead of them.

The dragon was a massive Welsh Green, but its eyes were milky white orbs instead of the massive eyes they should have been. It was blind, but that had not diminished its sense of smell or hearing, nor its ability to detect magical presences: It was staring right at them.

"Mass stunners…" Harry dived. The bolt of flame scorched the stone where he had been standing seconds before. "Cover!" he roared, dropping his chameleon charm as he rolled behind the closest pillar. He looked around and breathed a sigh of relief: Everyone seemed to have made it, "Call off!"

Six voices answered him, and he took stock of their positions. They were spread out in a rough arc in front of the Welsh Green. Harry blinked, "Where's the Goblin?"

"I got him!" replied Colin, as he checked over the diminutive figure slumped next to him, "Had to stun him though."

"No plan survives contact with reality," remarked Fred to his twin brother.

"Quite right," agreed George, "Orders?" he shouted across the chamber.

"Phoenix Guard: Stunner storm in three!" Harry spent a second gather his magic to him and rolled right in front of the dragon, which turned to face him, tracking him by both smell and magic. He met its baleful sightless glare, accompanied by a tank engine like growl, and replied with a two word growl of his own: "Perspicuus Lancea!"

A single beam of bright white light shot from his wand and gouged a three meter scar in the rock, throwing knife like stone shards up and in the dragons face. It reared back with a roar, rising on its hind legs, its wings unfurled, now more than a little pissed off as it prepared to unleash another bolt of flame, but critically exposing its chest. The Phoenix Guard opened up at once: Fourteen bolts of fiery red streaked towards the target, and while several peppered its stomach and one found a wing, eight of them slammed into its exposed chest.

The force of the spells rocked it backwards on its heels, and it slumped over, its last bolt of flame turning the ceiling black before it struck the ground, throwing a cloud of dust, shaking Gringotts to its very foundations as they regrouped, Colin with Neville's help were dragging the unfortunate Goblin behind them, "Somebody's gotta have heard that noise," remarked Colin.

They enervated their unfortunate captive, and once again, Harry cast the Imperius curse and forced the Goblin to lead them, at last to the Lestrange vault. "Open it!" he ordered. The Goblin fought for all he was worth, and finally lost, his eyes adopting the vacant blank stare common to those in the thrall of the curse. He stood before the great stone door and ran his finger down the middle. There was a sharp "click!" and the door slid open, and they were left staring at the kind of wealth most of them had heard about, dreamed about, but never actually seen before.

"There's enough gold in here to buy a country!" whispered Colin as he shed his invisibility.

"Or perhaps enough gold to buy a few governments," chided Harry as he followed suit, "Leave the wealth. You know what we're here for. Fan out and find it. Just remember the curses are still in effect."

Nobody needed reminding of both Gemino and Flagrante as they moved to the center of the vault, scanning for the elusive cup. "Located!" called Ginny. She was pointing to a small shelf, under which lay a haphazard mountain of gold.

"Oh shit!" The low tower of Galleons was only ten pieces high, but when they struck the stone floor, they began to multiply. It was not long before ten coins had become three dozen, and continued to multiply. "Wingardium Leviosa!" the fallen coins hovered in mid air, and fortunately stopped multiplying. "Hurry you guys! I can't hold this forever."

Leaving Fred and George to keep the cursed Galleons airborne, the rest gathered around Ginny, "You sure you up to this?" asked Harry. She nodded, once. He nodded back. She said she was ready, that was good enough for him. Quickly, she rose of the ground, guided by four levitation charms. They kept her well above the mountain of gold. The cup was within reach, but they moved her in close still and she finally wrapped her hands around the handle, and let go with a sharp yelp, jerking her hand back in pain.

"Just burned through my dragon hide gloves!" her voice radiated with pain, "I can't pick it up!"

"I knew the curse was a powerful one, but I didn't know it was that powerful," said Luna quietly.

"Never mind that," replied Harry, now leveling an evil glare at the cup, "How do we get it out of here?"

"Basilisk venom will work right?" asked Neville.

"Don't tell me you carry that stuff around?"

"Nope, but," he hesitated, "If we can't get it out of here, maybe we can destroy it, in here?"

"What do you mean?" said Ginny, eyeing her boyfriend critically for a moment. Her eyes widened a fraction, "You don't mean… torch the vault? That's insane!"

"Unless somebody else has a better idea," said Neville gently, "I don't see us as having any other option."

Harry didn't hesitate, "Prep for Fyndfire," he ordered. They looked at him, aghast, so shocked that the twins actually let the hovering charm slip for a moment – but only a moment. Two galleons struck the floor and quadrupled before they were back off the floor of the vault, "Prep for Fyndfire," he repeated, looking at Neville, "I don't have any other ideas, and I daresay we are running out of time."

It was true. They had planned to be in and out based in less than six minutes. They had barely a minute left on that window. Any longer and they would be unlikely to be able to reroute to Harry's Family Vault to keep up the pretense, running a greater risk of capture. "Could the Goblin deactivate the ward scheme?"

"No telling how long that could take," replied Harry quietly, "Legion, exit," he ordered. They returned Ginny to ground level and exited as Harry flicked the wand in to his hand. The incantation was simple enough, but in Sirius's own words on the subject, "Any idiot can summon it, most idiots can't control it." Harry knew he could do both, and ideally he wanted to incinerate the cup, not the entire vault. He channeled his magic, focusing upon the image he wanted the living flame to take, "Exuro is pessum!"

The flame built and coalesced at the tip of his wand and seemed to hang there for just the barest fraction of a second before it exploded outward, the wave of Fyndfire rapidly took on the shape and form of an otter – a ridiculously large one, but an otter none the less. "Burn the cup!"

The flame swam through the air, graceful and elegant and enveloped the cup of Hufflepuff. It smoldered and within moments, began to melt. Something screamed, a loud pained sound, the cross of nails on a chalkboard, an out of tune violin together with something all the more, foreboding that Harry could not place. No matter. The task was done.

"Did you... feel that?" whispered Colin, "It was like... pure evil, and darkness." None could disagree with the young man's assessment.

"Considering Voldemort cut his soul in sev... six pieces," said Harry, "and everything he has done or had done in his name, the fact that he's evil incarnate, should be a given."

They stared at the spot where the cup once stood, now a dripping puddle of molten metal that began to drip down on to the mountain of Galleons like blood. It was, he realized, something of a fitting image, "Blood money" he thought, "everything in this damn vault is to bribe and buy death." The acid scorn of Harry's thoughts would etch platinum, "Burn it all!"

The flame spread and began its destructive work upon the gold and other artifacts contained with the former vault of mad bitch Lestrange. Harry turned and exited the vault, closing the door behind him. He looked at his friends, and though they said nothing, he could feel their feelings, the mix between approval, disbelief, shock and surprise. He could also read through their impassiveness expressions. They were slightly concerned that he was going off the deep end. He didn't blame them.

"Anyone care to visit the Potter Family Vault?" he asked casually as they levitated the most unfortunate of Gringotts Goblins past the still unconscious Welsh Green.

Ginny suppressed a snigger, "Is that dragon drooling on himself?" They all stopped to stare for a moment. None of them were able to suppress their sniggering and it helped lighten the mood, given the enormity of what they had just done, and what they had yet to get away with. They remounted the cart, enervated and imperiused their driver and had him take them to the Potter family vault.

It was there that the trickiest of the spell work took place, and Harry would trust no other but himself to do the job: They stunned the Goblin again and it did not take long for Harry to break in his mind, find all of his memories of the last fifteen minutes and obliviate them, leaving only the fact that they boarded the cart in good order, and had arrived and departed Harry's vault with ease. A series of compulsion charms ensured that the Goblin would never recall anything out of the ordinary.

Satisfied with his spell work, Harry retrieved a respectable amount of gold from his vault along with a number of books and other things just to keep up appearances. And they rode back to the metro station beneath the bank itself. Without a word, the twins muttered incantations under their breath. The small charges they had planted detonated, without a flash or a sound as they disintegrated upon themselves, become nothing but dust that the passage of carts and wind would disperse in short order. The small crystals were actually Detonator Crystals, smuggled out of the Ministry's "War Armory" by two of its Aurors. They packed enough raw explosive power to kill within anything standing with three feet of the blast.

The devices had been part of an alternate "Plan C," to be used when the situation went completely to pieces. Barring the fact that the Lestrange Vault was probably still a blazing furnace, things had gone rather well. Together the group of quiet, solemn teenagers exited the bank and with sighs of relief made their way to their respective homes, eager to put as much distance between Gringotts and themselves, for the foreseeable future at least.

Unbeknownst to the group, Griphook had watched their progress with interest. The moment they had walked in he had been notified, and had shadowed them from a distance. As one of the numerous Senior Accounts Managers, his magical signature was keyed in to the Thieves Downfall, which had allowed him to follow without being discovered.

He was not sure what to make of Harry's actions, especially where the Imperius Curse had been employed. He could not help but wonder when or how Harry had learned to use that particular curse and to manipulate it in such a fashion. The thought of the Chosen One going dark flitted through his mind, but he discarded the possibility, 'The young man had no other alternative and he did it himself, instead of having one of his friends do it. The repercussions fall squarely on Harry's shoulders if it ever emerges. His friends….' Though sanctionable under Goblin law if they were captured, they had not been captured, partly due to his own covert manipulations that had misrouted the clockwork like patrols as well as the invisible guards. Deactivating the various different charms, ward schemes and curses in place was the only true link to him and what had taken place.

He sighed, and shook his head, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk where a bottle of Sun blonded Vint Firewhiskey was hidden, along with a number of glasses. He waited, and it was not long before his wife Marinashka and a third Goblin joined them in the room. She waited as he sealed the room against any means of listening in and entry, magical or otherwise. They waited, and watched as Griphook emptied the contents of the bottle in three glasses. Each glass held more than a generous measure of whiskey, and he stared into the depths of amber liquid, watching the gold flecks dance in the light.

The office was much the same as it always was, except that the stacks of paper and parchment seemed taller. With the return of Voldemort, increasing security always meant an increase in the accompanying paperwork and bureaucracy, but it served the interests of Gringotts to ensure that the vaults of their customers – no matter how unsavory – remained secure. He took a sip from the glass and turned to Ragnar, "It is done?"

"I was not expecting the stunning spells," replied the third Goblin, "The Imperius was unsettling but otherwise, I believe all went as well as can be expected." Ragnar smiled, "How long?"

"Within the hour," replied Griphook steadily. He said nothing more as his friend of the past forty-seven years met his gaze one final, "You know what is required?"

"I do," he replied, taking a sip of his own whiskey. He grimaced, "I cannot fathom why you enjoy the consumption of this particular wizarding beverage so much." He placed his glass back on the desk.

"Ragnar, stop changing the subject," said Griphook quietly, "I was surprised when you acquiesced so easily to such a request, given its enormous repercussions."

"Given what has come to pass between us," Ragnar shrugged, "You only ask for that which is yours to ask for," he held up his hand, revealing the heavy, thick scar that ran diagonally down the palm of his right hand. Griphook stared at it for a long moment, knowing that he had a matching one on his hand, "I honor the bond and the debt between us and you cannot take this, as it is freely given."

"Then forgive me, old friend," said Griphook, as he toyed with his glass, "I do what I must to ensure the survival of our way, our kind, and our world at large."

"No forgiveness necessary," replied Ragnar. He looked across at Marinashka, "Proceed."

She chanted, softly in the language of the Goblins, giving the harsh guttural syllables a soft, almost musical whimsy. Magic built in her hands, and sparks began arching between her fingers, until finally she seemed to have a bolt of lightning in each hand. She continued to chant, as she placed her hands on either side of his head. Ragnar looked across at Griphook with an almost tired smile, one that mixed thanks, a weary happiness, and perhaps even a measure of sadness.

The Senior Accounts Manager of Gringotts held his friend's gaze, and underneath his table, gripped the armrests of his chair, his nails biting through the leather. 'Good bye, my friend,' he thought as the blue glow arched between his wife's outstretched fingers. The current of magic leaped between her hands and flared. The light was blinding for several moments, and Griphook felt his eyes begin to ache, but he watched until it was done: The light faded, and Marinashka lowered her hands. The last stray wisps of magic dissipating into the air, "It is done," she whispered. The Rite of Concealment was as draining as the wizarding Fidilius Charm, only that it secured the knowledge within the mind of its recipient, and could never be revealed without the correct code phrase, which was in this case, only known to Marinashka.

She turned to her husband, "I am ready."

He shaped and focused the magic, "Brogast!" It was the Goblin equivalent of a memory charm, though more permanent, as it erased her knowledge of the code phrase, rendering all that had transpired that morning known to only one Goblin, the "Ministry Seven" and a still unconscious Welsh Green drooling on itself beneath Diagon Alley.


	4. Chapter 63 - The Last Will of the House

A/N:

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 63

The Last Will of the House of Black

Harry was no longer accustomed to sleep, for a number of reasons. Amongst those numerous and varied reasons was the fact that he was afraid to sleep. Perhaps afraid is not the right word, apprehensive would be more appropriate. But then, he had gotten used to lying on the bed, with his eyes closed, in many ways mimicking sleep. Truth was, he was not sure if he did sleep at all anymore as his mind trod over the same information, trying to find some new...something. But ultimately his mind kept coming back to the same fact: Three destroyed and four remain.

It had been five days since their successful incursion into Gringotts. And the more Harry thought about it, the more he was convinced that it all had been too easy. Of course, there had been no report of the break in, but that was largely due to the fact that nothing had been stolen, and that the Goblins would sooner eat a battle axe than admit that somebody had gotten in and torched the contents of a vault.

A wave of his hand cast a tempus spell, revealing that it was now Saturday, just after six in the morning. He couldn't be sure if he had slept, or daydreamed through the night. Whatever it was, he felt as rested as he ever got these days. He rose to his feet and went through his morning routine, and somehow he was unsurprised that when he opened his door and made his way downstairs for his first cup of coffee of the day that his kitchen was populated by the rest of his friends.

They were practically living there, he realized. They all had their own rooms – though he knew for a fact Colin had yet to sleep in his room, just as Ginny had not slept in hers. By tacit, unspoken agreement, nobody had ever mentioned the sleeping arrangements within Potter Manor – even if Harry knew everything trough his mind link to Alnwick.

Alnwick, the center intelligence that controlled both the active and passive wards and security of the estate also helped with numerous other things, essentially filling in gaps as required. It knew the contents, down to the how many milliliters of Syrup of Hellbore, and grams of powdered dragon claw were in the potions store, as well as more useless information such as the number of training dummies destroyed by Harry – 5,666 – and how many the Legion Core had destroyed – 15,834 – to complete records on the strengths, weaknesses, and abilities of all 237 members of The Legion. This morning however, it had perhaps the most mundane of tasks: it turned on the magical coffee pot, which immediately started to brew the coffee to Harry's exacting standard of, "Brewed hot as hell, black as midnight before being chilled colder than the flames of hell frozen over."

He drained the coffee in one long pull and carelessly dropped the cup into the sink before heading out. Wordlessly, the rest fell in line behind him and broke in a jog across the grounds of the Manor. Considering that the grounds were extensive, Harry normally ran only two or three laps, averaging about ten kilometers in just under an hour, before spending another hour in the training room where they dueled, continuing to work their way through the Armageddon Scenarios that saw them battle their way through Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, through the halls of the Ministry and even through Hogwarts, as well as a series of different urban, suburban and subterranean scenarios. More often than not, they found themselves in need of some renervation, and medical treatment during and after their training jaunts. Fortunately, Winky was proving to be quite the healer, and the teens were giving her plenty of practice.

On more than one occasion, Harry himself had needed to spend some time recovering from injuries that bordered on the severe. They all had, and several amongst their number bore the telltale scars from their sometimes inexpertly applied healing magic, something none of them seemed to have a very good grasp of, despite their extensive knowledge of charms, transfiguration and defense. This morning they had done better than before: The usual collection of cuts, bruises, scratches, but only a few broken limbs and cracked ribs as nobody was knocked unconscious.

Showered and clean, they chatted amicably over breakfast, about nothing of consequence. Harry blinked as Alnwick brought his attention to a not unexpected visitor: The Goblin Firesprite flashed out of the only Floo networked fireplace in the manor's Travel Room, deposited a message next to Harry and then departed the same way. It was one of the sticking points of the Manor wards that had not escaped notice: No one and nothing could pass through the wards, and if something unwanted did somehow make its way through the open connection, they would have to deal with the defenses wielded by Alnwick which ranged from the mild to the outright deadly.

He stared at the letter and finally opened it, and was not surprised to find that it bore the bank crest as its letterhead. He read through it twice, and then passed it to the person sitting immediately to his left. Ginny read it and passed it on without comment until the letter made its way back to Harry who balled it up and tossed it in to the dining room fireplace.

"You going?" asked Ginny.

Harry shrugged, "I'm not sure that I want to."

"Then don't go," said Colin with a shrug as he cut into his fourth sausage.

While the wards kept Firesprites and House elves and certainly wizards from apparating in or out, there was however, at its simplest level, no defense against a Phoenix apparating through the wards, bearing a message address to Harry Potter. At least, Fawkes had the good grace to apparate in the travel room, instead of directly on the breakfast table, "Phoenix incoming," said Harry. He watched his friends as they immediately vanished in their seats, "Jeez guys, paranoid much?"

"Constant Vigilance!" said Neville from the far end of the table.

"Then put your tea down," replied Harry, "Floating cup would be a touch, suspicious." There was a chuckle of laughter and then all was silent as Fawkes flew into the dining room and landed lightly on the mantle above the fireplace. "Hello Fawkes," said Harry.

There was a thrill of phoenix song in reply, as he held out a clawed foot, clutching a roll of parchment, "Are you supposed to wait for a reply?" Though no human actually spoke the language of the phoenixes, the thrill made clear that he was supposed to wait for a written response. Harry wasn't sure how he knew that, he just did. Magic was, magic like that. He unfurled the parchment and began to read:

"_Mr. Potter,_

_Though we have had our differences, I realize that your Godfather, Sirius Black has passed on, and I hope that I am not remiss in offering my condolences for his passing. I hope that you will find comfort and solace in the company of your friends."_

Harry rolled his eyes, "If you had done things right you bastard, my godfather would have raised me, and not spent twelve years of his life in fucking Azkaban." He let his eyes scan across the parchment, ignoring great chunks of it about "working together," "cooperating for the greater good," and such until he came to the semi final paragraph:

"_While I realize that you have no need of whatever money Sirius may have left you, I must urge you to attend the reading of Sirius's will and accept whatever he has bequeath you. Should you refuse to do so, all of Sirius's possessions and funds will go to his closest living relative: Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black. I do not believe that I have to explain where the funds will ultimately wind up, and how they will be used to finance the Death Eaters._

"_Furthermore, Grimmauld Place, Sirius's ancestral home and headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, has locked itself down, refusing entry to all but its new owner, who I believe to be you. It is my hope that after the reading of the will, you will allow the Order to continue using it, but if you so desire, we can continue using our current, alternative location._

_I hope to see you at Gringotts this afternoon at 2 p.m._

_Cordially yours,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore…"_

As much as he hated to admit it, Dumbledore had raised a number of valid points. 'The enemy of my enemy is a problem for later,' mused Harry, grabbing a length of parchment and a quill, Harry wrote a brief, terse reply and handed it to Fawkes. With a trill and a flash of flame, the firebird vanished, 'In the mean time, they can get in each other's way."

They canceled their invisibility charms and waited for Harry to say, well, something. They didn't expect what he said however, "Table full of half eaten breakfast, and you think that Fawkes won't know that there were other people having breakfast here?" there were a number of sheepish grins around the table, "But I'm going to Gringotts," he threw Dumbledore's note to Colin, "Better I get it, than those bastards," he said darkly.

There was no arguing with the logic of that particular statement, as Colin handed the parchment to Fred – or George – he wasn't sure which was which but then nobody really was until they started speaking. The only reason they could tell then was because normally George spoke first and Fred finished his brother's sentences.

Again, the letter made its way around the table in silence. There was nothing to be said as they passed the morning, each to their own distractions and idle amusements. Harry however, spent most of it in the training rooms, continuing his obliteration of the training dummies. He found himself with far too much anger and rage within, and if he didn't vent it in some fashion, he knew he ran the risk of self destructing in what would no doubt be a rather spectacular fashion.

It was just before two in the afternoon when Harry stepped out of the fireplace and into Griphook's office. They dispensed with the formalities and began to walk, "Dumbledore is already here," said Griphook without preamble, "But we've kept him waiting, and we can keep him waiting if you like." Given all that had transpired in the past few days, it was all Griphook could do to keep himself from demanding what it was in the vault - or rather the large hole in the ground that used to be the Lestrange vault - that had necessitated its destruction with Fyndfire, "Till Christmas perhaps?"

"I don't think whoever is waiting with Dumbledore should have to suffer for that long," replied Harry.

"Indeed."

Harry looked around, noticing the increased security, and couldn't help but ask, "Griphook, is everything alright?"

"The return of Lord Voldemort," he replied evenly, "We can't be too careful in these dangerous times." Harry stayed silent as they passed through a series of stringent security inspections. Though Harry was forced to register his wand, he was surprised when he was allowed to keep it. He raised an eyebrow in Griphook's direction. The Goblin mirrored the expression, "The friends and allies of Gringotts would never be so insulted as to be asked to surrender their weapons."

Harry stopped in mid-step, recalling all he had read, then turned to face Griphook, giving him a formal bow, "You grant me a rarely given honor Griphook. It is my hope that I prove worthy of such... titles."

The Goblin bowed in kind, as deep as Harry had done, a showing of respect for an ally and a friend, "You are a friend. Your Legion, an ally in the coming storm. The titles do not honor you per se, for it is you who must honor the titles."

The security checks were stringent, and they found not only Harry's wand, but also a few other items that raised an eyebrow, as well as the fact he was wearing full war gear beneath his clothes. Though it raised an eyebrow, that was all it did - the Goblins prided themselves on discretion after all - and Harry found himself standing in a room that he remembered from the middle of last year. It was the same room where he had been awarded guardianship of both Colin and Luna by Xenophilius Lovegood, a man he barely ever knew.

"Wotcher, Harry." It came as no surprise that Nymphandrora Tonks was here as well: She was part of the little family that Sirius had left. he crushed the flash of guilt that threatened to rise. To his surprise, she pulled him into a hug, "Know I've not seen you since that night, but I need you to know: I don't blame you."

He nodded, and in an attempt to lighten the mood, he stared at Tonk's appearance, settling on her hair. He had never seen her before with black hair, and he found that it suited her, giving her a somewhat, exotic look that he'd never noticed before. "Your normal hair color?"

She grinned, "House of Black remember? I figured, on this occasion, black hair is appropriate."

Harry conjured a mirror, "It looks...great actually." Tonks took a moment to study her reflection, and flicked a lock of hair behind her ear, and flashed him a winning smile when Dumbledore's voice interrupted them.

"Perhaps we should proceed with the reading of the will?" The mere sound of Dumbledore's voice was the audio equivalent of nails on a chalkboard and it took Harry a long moment to reign in his emotions as the reality of Sirius's death crept down upon him, before he finally took a seat in the back row. He noted that Mad-eye Moody was present, along with Tonks, Remus, and Dumbledore, and of course both Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. Harry couldn't help the smirk that crossed his features as he remembered that Lucius Malfoy was still rotting in Azkaban. Hopefully, just hopefully, the Dementors would do away with the need for a trial. If he could slip into Azkaban... he gave himself a mental slap on the wrist. It was tempting, and he had the financial means to make it happen, but he had better things to do as a voice broke the solemn silence of the moment.

"Hem-Hem." She bore the smuggest smile Harry had ever seen, as Delores Umbridge entered the room, dressed in her pinkest glory and stalked to the front of the room before taking a seat. Harry raised an eyebrow towards Griphook, who shook his head ever so slightly in surprise at Umbridge's presence. He found himself clenching his hands as he contemplated hexing the bitch to oblivion.

While Griphook had a professional reputation to uphold, Harry had no such concerns: He marched up to the pink cardigan clad witch, "I don't recall you receiving an invitation to the reading of this will, and I am asking you to vacate the room, before I have you removed."

She smiled and thrust a piece of parchment in his face, "I am here in my capacity as Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, and the Ministry to confirm the death and passing of Sirius Black, and the end of the House of Black."

He snatched the parchment scroll and unsealed it, scanned it for a moment and raised an eyebrow in Griphook's direction. Marinashka emerged from a side room, and took the parchment from Harry's hand. she waded through the legal mumbo-jumbo in seconds, "She has the right to be here for the reading of the will."

Harry nodded stiffly, hands clenched at his side, nails cutting in the palms of his hands - not that he noticed this as he stalked back to his seat, sat down and glared at the back of her head. Griphook deposited a memory into a pensieve and Sirius Black rose from the Pensieve. It was just a memory, but it looked and moved like it was still alive. The memory took a moment to compose itself and then began to speak, "Seriously now, I am Sirius Orion Black, the last male of the family line, and head of House Black. I, being of sound mind and body declare this to be my last will and testament, nullifying all preceding documentation."

"If you are watching this, then I probably went out, wand blazing, or in the process of trying to pull off the greatest prank of my career. Hopefully either case is true, because death by old age, or falling down a flight of stairs is not how I ever intended to die." The memory gave a particularly girlish, high pitched squeal that started several of those gathered, "I'd probably have sounded like that if I fell down those stairs..."

There were a number of snickers in the audience, and Sirius paused as if he had anticipated them, "Now to business: I never recovered my possessions after my twelve years... away. But I know that my vault remains in good standing with Gringotts, and that Senior Accounts Manager Griphook certified in writing that my last wishes would be respected by the bank." Though listening, Harry noted that Umbitch was taking notes of her own. He frowned but said nothing for the moment, " To my cousin, Nymphandora Tonks - I can finally say that without being hexed!" He seemed particularly gleeful at that prospect, much to the irritation of the metamorphous whose hair flared red and pink for a moment, "I could say it for hours! Nymphandora! Numphandora! Nymphandor... I'll stop before she hexes the pensieve,"

There was another round of chuckles as Sirius continued, "I leave the amount of 250,000 Galleons to you. Use it as you see fit, and perhaps, you could snare yourself a boyfriend or two and then a husband, have a couple of kids and seriously, name one after me if you like. I know a certain older gentleman is not quite correct given his rougish youth who you could persuade..." Tonks clearly wasn't sure what hit her harder: Sirius using her given name like a mantra, the money or the fact that he knew about the secret crush she had harbored for, well years. "Just set aside some of the money, in case you have to flee. I want you to have the option, even if you never take it."

"To my best, and closest friend, the first and now last marauder and prankster, Remus John Lupin. You were my brother in everything but blood and I owe you an apology for not trusting you more when James and Lily passed. Forgive me for failing you, for I let you, and us down badly. To you my brother, I leave you a further 250,000 Galleons. Use it in good health, and perhaps you could find someone who loves you to start living life to its fullest - I know a certain klutzy witch with color changing hair who'd be more than happy to jump you er jump start things..."

The aforementioned individuals looked to each for the briefest possible fractions of a second and then promptly looked at opposite corners of the room, much to Harry's amusement. He couldn't help himself, "Jeez guys, could you make it any more obvious?" There was a moment of silence before those gathered laughed. They could not help themselves as the memory added.

"To my Godson Harry James Potter: The Black Family vault used to hold a great deal more than the 250,000 Galleons that I leave to you. I wish things could have been different, that we could have truly been together as family. In addition to the money, I name you the owner of the Black Family Home, and as acting head of the House of Black, name you the sole heir to the bloodline, and name of Black. May you help it find a place in the Light. I hope that you live life to the fullest, happy, and enjoy the peace in life that I never had. In every way that matters, you are the son I should have, but never had. Love you kiddo."

"To Fleur Delacour," Harry's head snapped up in surprise, "I don't know if it will work out between you and my godson. But I pray that it does. If it all works out, which I'm hoping it will... something will become available to you when the time is right. Let's just say that the Goblins have all the arrangements in hand. He can say what he likes but he's got my moodiness in him, and Remus's contemplative silence. What's most important is what he doesn't say, or won't say." The memory grinned, "He's also a bit shy and thick like James was." Harry glared at his godfather at that particular remark, "It's true kiddo: Took him four years to figure out what it was between him and Lily, took him another year to get the courage to do something about it, and then another year to actually do something about doing something about it!"

Griphook paused the recording for a moment so that Harry could wipe away the single tear that made its way down his cheek. When it resumed, there was nothing of the practical joker, happy-go-luck Sirius Black, "I know some of you are watching this hoping to get something for the Dark Lord. Tell the bastard that Sirius Black, and every witch, wizard and muggle he harmed will be waiting for him to enact our brand of justice upon him when my Godson tears him a new asshole."

"I mean you, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, and Draco Aeries Malfoy: I leave you nothing but my utter scorn, contempt and disgust as your beliefs will destroy our world, perhaps the whole world, and when you are defeated, the names Malfoy and Lestrange will be used as insults and curses. We had such dreams and hopes when we were growing up, but you failed to live up to any of those dreams. There is no amount of money that can help erase your past, present and future misdeeds, just as no amount of money that will ease the passage of your souls in the next life."

"Finally, Albus Dumbledore: You could have gotten me out of Azkaban if you had shared your memories. You knew I was not the Potter's secret keeper. But you did nothing. So I leave you nothing but the same things I leave to Naricissa and Bellatrix, with one caveat: Fuck you." The room fell silent at that accusation, and Dumbledore could feel the eyes of everyone upon him, judging him. Though he maintained a cool exterior, he was raging on the inside. Everything had been falling apart over the past few years, and there was little that he could do about it!

He had lost all influence and control over Harry at the end of his fourth year when what he had done to Hermione Granger had emerged - compliments of Tom Riddle which was particularly galling. He had made tentative overture to Harry, who had accepted the gestures but done nothing to reciprocate, and truthfully, Dumbledore doubted that Harry would ever return the favor in kind. Needless to say, Dumbledore had completely overlooked the obvious: Harry had never said a word about what had transpired and shattered their "friendship".

The memory glanced at a nonexistent watch, "I'm out of time here. I will see you all again - not anytime soon, but after you've all lived long, full, happy lives surrounded by friends, family grandkids and maybe even great-grandkids. Just remember one thing: Loyalty, and honor before profit. Goodbye."

There was a moment of respectful silence, as they watched the image of Sirius fade away, only to have it cut short by a certain high pitched voice. "Ahem-hem," she began, "This will has not been scrutinized by the Ministry of Magic, and as such may not be legally binding nor applicable to the named individuals. Acting as the Undersecretary to the Minister himself, I hereby order the seizure and freezing of the assets of the House of Black, pending a proper investigation to ascertain the status of Mr. Black and the legality of his will."

Griphook shook his head, "The Ministry," he said quietly but firmly, "does not have the authority to intervene in what is strictly a matter that concerns Gringotts and a client, especially since no law has been broken by said client!"

Dumbledore, ever the opportunistic manipulator chose this moment to intervene, "The wills are validated by Gringotts," he said, "And Griphook clearly speaks for Gringotts on this matter. To go against their wishes in this matter will severely hamper any attempts by the Ministry to forge a meaningful partnership against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

"The Ministry has no need of such allies!" snarled Umbridge, dropping all pretenses of civility, "And it will be a cold day in hell before wizard kind will ever sign such an accord, with... with..."

Nobody had seen Harry rise to his feet, or move quite as fast as Umbridge suddenly found herself staring down the length of a vine wood wand, "I would consider your next words very carefully," the young wizards green eyes flared with power, and a barely constrained anger, "You are an unwelcome house guest at best, and I will not have you besmirching the honor and integrity of my friends in such a fashion, unless you would care for an honor duel, right here, right now!"

Dolores Umbridge paled under the threat, but quickly her anger overrode her common sense, "I am an elected official of the Ministry and you would dare raise your wand against me!"

"This is not the Ministry," interjected Marinashka. "This is Goblin land, and our laws are the law of the land. And Harry Potter is well within his rights, under not only Wizarding Law to challenge you to such a duel, but also holds the right under Goblin Law." Perhaps the implications of those words were lost upon Harry and the Malfoys, but nobody was watching when Dumbledore's eyebrows nearly exploded off his forehead in complete and utter surprise.

The twins noted the Malfoy's watching the entire confrontation with great interest, but the look of sadness on Narcissa's face actually brought the barest hint of a smirk to Harry's face. And with good reason: No inheritance, all of their assets frozen, her husband in jail, and Draco was probably going to be his father's replacement. He realized that in all things they were shades of grey. Whatever Draco's faults were, and they were legion, making him an irreprehensible human being at best, he did not deserve to have his family torn asunder.

Of course, it was then that the Minister of Magic chose to make his entrance. Cornelius Oswald Fudge did little to inspire attention, confidence or respect for that matter. He was such a triviality that Harry didn't bother taking his eyes, or moving his wand from where it rested, pressed against the underside of toad-face's chin. "That is enough!" snapped Fudge as he strode across the room towards the confrontation, "Undersecretary Umbridge, the will of Sirius Black is in perfect order and the last requests of Mr. Black will be honored. Is that clear?!" Umbridge blinked in complete surprise, the color of her face completely at odds with the pink of her attire. "Perhaps Har... Mr. Potter, you could lower your wand? I would rather not have to deal with such an ugly incident."

To everyone's surprise, he gave the minister a sidelong glance and nodded ever so slightly, "You need to shorten her leash Minister, because I have this tendency of putting down rabid Death Eater wannabes like dogs."

The Minister faltered at what could be construed as a death threat against a high ranking member of the Ministry, but wisely held his tongue. Truthfully, he had set Umbridge up in an attempt to curry favor with Harry, which seemed to be working for the moment. Say what you will, but the Minister was a politician who could read the mood of the public as well as anyone else. For the moment, Harry was the "Boy-who-gets-whatever-he-wants," especially if it was a reasonable demand. "I apologize for her behavior Mr. Potter, and will be having a word with her in a more private setting. If that is all," he turned to those gathered, "Undersecretary Umbridge, I believe we should return to the Ministry."

"Indeed," agreed Dumbledore, "There is much that requires my attention at Hogwarts," as he was attempting to leave however, Harry managed to snare the man's gaze accompanied by the slightest twitch of his head: They would need to have a chat. Dumbledore nodded his understanding, and sat back in his chair, to wait.

"Harry, perhaps we can meet to finalize the arrangements of the will?" suggested Griphook.

"Immediately."

What surprised those was when the Goblin returned the bow in kind, "Please follow me."

Dumbledore could do little more than follow Harry out of the room as Griphook led them to a separate, private meeting room. Harry raised an eyebrow, and Griphook nodded, excusing himself on the pretext of retrieving certain documents pertinent to finalizing the will. The two men sat on opposite sides of the table with Harry putting his back to the wall. He drew his wand and placed it on the table, sat back and waited. The headmaster of Hogwarts hesitated for a moment before following suit.

The stare down began.


	5. Chapter 64 - Family Affairs

A/N:

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 64

Family Affairs

The pair seated at the table were diametrically opposed, in almost every way imaginable. Starting with their appearances, you could immediately say one was old, the other was young. But something else about them made clear that their differences were certainly more than skin deep, that their views were nearly opposite in some way that prevented them from seeing eye to eye on just about anything. Harry knew this pointless staring match could go on for hours. And he had better thing to do with his time, "Down to business," said Harry.

"Down to business," agreed Dumbledore. He was not surprised at having won their staring match - he had many more years of practical experience staring down Ministers and Prime Ministers.

"The first regards the use of Sirius's home, as the headquarters of your Order of the Phoenix," Harry shrugged, "I don't know." Dumbledore blinked in surprise, "That home is all that I have to remind me of my Godfather and blood family."

"The physical does not replace the memories you have," replied the headmaster.

"It does not," agreed Harry, "But when you have next to no memories, then the physical is all that you have. So your Order can continue to meet wherever the heck it is you meet. Not that you've done any good at all." Harry's sneer could have done Snape proud, "My brothers and sisters, have done more to blunt Voldemort than your precious Order. Stunning spells against killing curses," he snorted.

"They deserve…"

"They deserve a cutting curse to the neck, a blasting curse to the heart, to be stripped of their magic and forced to live as muggles in the deepest, darkest cesspits of the world. The last thing they deserve is a second chance."

Dumbledore shook his head, refusing to concede the point, "You would stoop to their level Harry? Have your friends fall alongside you in to the Dark?"

"We were never in the light – at least not fully," he amended, "You don't understand that Light and Dark are the extremes. You want to stay in the Light, but all your underhanded dealings put you in the Dark. So spare me the sanctimony. It doesn't fly with me. At least I can honestly say that I know where I stand: Where light and dark cross paths, where everything is different shades of Grey."

"Tell me something Harry," said Dumbledore, "Do you think Fleur would approve of what you have done? Would Hermione?" It was a dangerous gambit to mention either of the women Harry loved, never mind put both in the same sentence, "You have admitted that you walk in that… grey area. But do you know of its dangers? The risks? Do you know what you ask of your friends, by asking them to follow you?"

Harry hands were clenching the arm rests of his chair, and his nails had gouged the wood, as he fought down the rage and anger. It was the smoke rising from beneath his hands that alerted Dumbledore to the success of his gambit. He had provoked a reaction, and he pressed it home, "I have done what I have done for the greater good. To preserve and protect, to heal and to mend whereas you and your "Legion" simply kill. Are they an army that will conquer all who disagree with you?"

The was a sharp crack as the chair seemed to explode out and away from Harry, smashing in to the far wall, "They are an army! They will fight and they will kill and they will die to defend, and protect!" His hands slammed down on to the table, wreathed in flames, "That is the only way there will be something left to mend and heal!" he roared as his palm prints burned into the table, fully aware of the irony of his words.

"I fear for you Harry," continued the headmaster, completely unperturbed, "I fear for your soul and…."

"You should fear Voldemort and his Horcruxes!" snapped Harry. He stared at Dumbledore's face for a long moment, "Don't even think about playing dumb. If you don't know then you should bloody well have a clue. You've had at least fifteen years to figure it all out."

True enough as the headmaster could only nod, "I believe he made six in total?" clearly the Headmaster was fishing for information, seeking exactly what Harry knew about such Dark magic.

"Six," confirmed Harry, "The Diary from Ginny's second year, which has been destroyed." The Headmaster nodded, "and given his obsession with Hogwarts and the founders," continued Harry, "Four of those would be objects belonging to the Founders." Harry awarded the headmaster an almost feral grin, "Of which only three remain."

"You destroyed one." It was a statement, not a question, "And given that you do not have ready access to a supply of basilisk venom…I find myself compelled to ask, how? And more specifically when?"

Harry's grin actually widened, "A magician never reveals his secrets." It was a mocking smile that reminded Dumbledore a great deal of a young Tom Marvolo Riddle, before he became Voldemort. He had failed that young man, and now it felt as if he was failing again… had already failed. "I presume you have spent the intervening years trying desperately to locate and destroy them?"

"I have," he admitted readily, "and I believe I have located one and am close to determining the location of another, based on my study of Voldemort's life, before he became the Dark Lord that many live in fear of." Dumbledore hesitated, "Perhaps… are you aware of his life before his rise to power?"

Harry nodded, "I know that which matters most: He is a half-blood who spouts pureblood supremacy ideology. He is powerful, and most importantly, he needs to be killed. The details of his life are somewhat vague, and by and large irrelevant. Which ones are you close to?"

Dumbledore hesitated, and then realized he had no recourse but to tell Harry, if there was going to be any hope of them working together - just working together, not necessarily trusting one another, "The ring of the Gaunt family, most likely located in the ancestral family home. Another I believe is somewhere along the cliffs of Dover, possibly near a small, virtually unnamed village where Voldemort may have spent some of his childhood years. "

"I presume you have your own sources inside the ministry," said Dumbledore to which Harry stayed silent, "But then, the ministry is a far cry from the ideals upon which it was founded." Harry wasn't sure if that was a subtle jab or not as he listened, "I have no idea how he found the artifacts which he turned in to Horcruxes, but I believe I know where he has them hidden."

Harry hesitated. He knew he could not trust the headmaster farther than he could throw him, but they needed to work together for the moment at least, "Hufflepuff's Cup," said Harry, "That is the Horcrux the Legion neutralized."

Dumbledore nodded, accepting what he saw as a possible olive branch, "So Harry, where do we… go from here?"

They stared at each other across the table, and neither of them blinked, but neither attempted to breach the mind of the other. "We," Harry stressed, "go nowhere." He heard the headmaster's sigh and decided to strike preemptively, "I know what you've done, and because of that well," Harry shrugged and changed tack, "Revealing that will damage the wizarding world probably beyond recovery. As much as I hate to say it, those sheep out there need someone to follow, and that somebody is you, oh great white shepherd."

Harry leaned over the table suddenly, "But you come near any of those that chose to follow me, and you and I will have a reckoning because I will do everything in my power to destroy your name, image, reputation and memory. Are we clear?"

"Harry, you should not make threats that you cannot keep," said the Headmaster with a quiet smile.

"I don't do threats, Mr. Dumbledore," replied Harry, "I make promises." He glared at Dumbledore, "and its Mr. Potter to you. Am I clear?"

Griphook came through the door, carrying a stack of parchment and files, ready to get down to business. Harry and Dumbledore stared at each other for a long moment, and finally the aged wizard departed. They waited for several minutes and moved to a different room. Another goblin would magically sanitize the room against any "accidentally" left listening and tracking charms.

Harry stared at the mountain of paperwork before him. He had not had to sign this much paperwork when he "adopted" Colin and Luna. "Griphook, what the heck is all this?"

Griphook shrugged, "Paperwork going back quite a number of months that you need to sign off on."

"I don't recall ordering a dozen solid gold bathtubs, or two dozen sterling silver candlestick holders," he remarked drily as he took down the first stack of invoices, "Services rendered by Gringotts…" he began to read through the document and blinked in surprise, "Griphook, these go back, almost two years … Why haven't I seen these?"

"There never seemed to be a good time to settle these matters," said Griphook. To Harry's surprise, the Goblin looked almost uncomfortable, "The end of your fourth year, and this past year have been, trying to say the very least, and I have done as much as possible, at your Godfather's insistence to make this all as painless as possible."

There was nothing that Harry could really say or do but take a breath. He let it out slowly and took the offered quill and began to sign his way through the stack of parchments. Harry was sure that he lightened his overall wealth by several million Galleons, but he was not overly concerned as his investments – managed solely by Griphook – would recoup the loss before the end of the year. For the first time, he actually took a look at the investments that Griphook had made and was pleasantly surprised to find that the investments were mostly in Muggle companies. "More money can be made there in a matter of weeks, than can be made from a wizarding investment in years," explained his banker, "It is one of the few ways in which our world is still behind that of the muggles."

The array of investments, stocks, bonds, shares, and other holdings simply left him wide eyed in surprise. "It's like I own half the muggle world," he remarked quietly.

"In some ways you do, and that is in part due to the amazing foresight of your mother. Being muggle born, she knew more, and made the initial investments herself. Her investment into Microsoft has proven to be incredibly successfully, amongst many others."

Harry ran the numbers quickly in his head and came up with a number that he found difficult to believe, "So essentially, I've spent almost fifteen million Galleons in the past two years, and my investment made enough to cover those costs and generate profits of 7 million?" Griphook nodded, pleased at his accomplishment in manipulating the Potter wealth to generate such profits, "Then whatever it is you're getting paid, I'm not paying you enough am I? I want you to take 2% of the profits as a pay rise, retroactive for the past two years, and for providing outstanding service to me, ensure that Gringotts takes 1% of the profits, with my compliments."

"Thank you," said Griphook, "You do myself and Gringotts much honor."

Harry nodded, "Any way, there are a few other things I want to do, since I'm here." As much as Harry hated to admit it, the original seed for the idea had been planted by something Dumbledore had written in his letter urging Harry to attend the formal will reading at Gringotts. He stared at the heavy burnished silver ring for a long few moments. It bore the Black family crest, marking it as the ring to be worn by head of house. But he had always eschewed such formal trappings of position and power, but as he studied this ring, he had no choice really. It was the best way to tighten the screws on Voldemort. "A union of houses," muttered Harry, "one of light, one of dark, perfect for those who walk where all is shades of grey." He turned to his banker, "So, how does one do this?"

The process was quick and simple involving a slash across the palm to release his blood over both the Potter and Black rings, and a simple incantation. Needless to say, the new ring would be returned to the Potter vault once this ceremony was completed. After all, Harry had no reason to make himself any more of a target than he already was by wearing something like the ring. That and the added weight would throw off his aim.

Where the Potter family crest showed a Griffin flying over the ramparts of a castle, wing spread, poised to attack, the Black family crest was that of a hand holding a wand upon a background of stars. He had been uncertain what form the new House crest, that of Potter-Black would take as he watched the softening metal, whirl and begin to take shape, when instinctively, he just knew, that he could shape it, with his thoughts.

A million and one different ideas sped through his mind until he finally came upon something: The background was silver with castle ramparts. stars shimmered in the near-distant background. Dominating the entire image was a single Griffin, clutching a wand in one taloned claw, with a matching sword in the other. The blade of Godric Gryffindor.

Thus in a quiet ceremony on a Summer's day in the depths of Gringotts London, the house of Potter-Black was born. As the head of a House brought about by a union of two old families, he felt the weight of history upon his shoulders, and sighed softly, "The last of my blood family is gone."

"But you still have the family you built around you, your friends," replied Griphook softly, "And you have the Legion."

"Yeah," agreed Harry, "I suppose there is that: all 235 brothers and sisters, and my two kids." He sobered, "Sirius once told me about how he was excommunicated from the Black Family, I want to rectify that, a few other things, and do some excommunicating of my own," Being Lord of the Manor, so to speak, was not without a few perks and benefits of its own, and Harry intended to use them all to the most devastating of effects. He actually smiled, wishing there was a way he could watch the expressions on a select few faces when the notices were served.

Almost a week later, Narcissa had been enjoying a quiet cup of tea upon the patio, looking over the expansive gardens when the Firesprite appeared. She recognized the small beast as one of those creatures used as a messenger by the Goblins. What made her do a double take was the crest which sealed the parchment scroll. There were elements of it that were familiar to her, reminding her of the Black Family Crest, but the griffin and castle ramparts were different.

She took her time, adding a slice of lemon to her Earl Grey, letting it macerate slightly before removing it and placing it on a side dish. Satisfied, she broke the wax seal and began to read. Her cup was delicately hand crafted bone china of the finest quality. It struck the ground with a crash and shattered into a thousand fragments that spread across the patio. She leaned forward, reading the first few lines repeatedly before going through the rest of the document. She fell back in her chair, scrunching the parchment in one hand, "Potter-Black," it was a whisper, then it rose in volume , in intensity and in hatred until it was a screech of madness that would have done Bellatrix Lestrange proud, "Lord Harry James Potter-Black!"

The muggles that called the village of Little Haggleton home had looked up at the increasing decrepit manor house on the hill and wondered how in the word such an old, run down building could still be standing. The simple answer, they joked was magic. If only they knew. It was indeed magic that kept the entire crumbling construction from becoming a crumbling ruin. While Voldemort no longer considered it a suitable base of operations, Bellatrix Lestrange had delighted in calling her own home - with her master's permission of course. The Firesprite found her in the midst of an indulgence of her sadism. Being creatures of demonic origin - from an entirely different plane of existence where blood and violence was a common occurrence - the fact that two muggles were being hung upside down, covered in dozens of small wounds did not repulse the creature in the slightest. It merely delivered the message and vanished in a ball of flame.

Of course, once Bellatrix Lestrange was done "playing" with one of her victims, and read the official notice for the House of Potter-Black, her second "toy" died a remarkably quick and comparatively painless death., cursing the name of Harry James Potter-Black, and praying that the Dark Lord would let her have him as a plaything... for a little while at least.

Notification of a different nature were sent to one Nymphandora Tonks, and her parents, who simply could not believe that such a day had come within their lifetimes, and the celebration began almost spontaneously and went on well in to the night. Needless to say Harry was the guest of honor, and surrounded by friends, they did just that: Celebrating through the night, well into the early hours of the morning, which saw a group of bleary eyed teenagers, Portkey rather than consider trying to apparate or Floo home.

In fact, everyone grabbed onto Harry's portkey, meaning that everyone spent most of the day sleeping and recovering from their night of semi-wanton debauchery, awakening on the floor of the travel room, where they had simply collapsed in a giant heap. Of course, there were no celebrations on the Death Eater's side of things - but then they had absolutely nothing to celebrate...

"My Lord," the two women knelt before the Dark Lord, and it was Narcissa that spoke first, "We... thank you humbly for your time, my Lord."

Voldemort's smile was more of a grimace of death as he stared down from his throne. The throne was of his own making, and one that had made more than one Death Eater choke down their bile. It was the work of a master craftsman - although an insane one - whose materials had been the bones of those who had defied him. Some had been dug up from the graves of those who had fallen to his wand in the first war, others, were more recent victims. What had been particularly frustrating for the Dark Lord had been the fact that he had not been able to located the graves of Colin's family, Luna's father, or even the muggle born Hermione Granger, and he had particularly enjoying inflicting her demise upon her. "I always have time for the most faithful of my followers," he favored Bellatrix with a smile that sent a shudder creeping down Narcissa's smile... if it meant what she thought it meant.

"My Lord," she faltered now that she was before him, as she knew full well what awaited her the moment she finished explaining the most recent actions of her Lord's nemesis. "My Lord, certain events have occurred in recent days. The will of Sirius Black...has been read..."

The smile vanished almost instantly, "Yes," he said heatedly, even as the temperature of his throne room fell. Ice crystals began to form on the floor around him. Narcissa exhaled, and saw the steaming cloud of her own breath before her, swirling and dancing, free in a way she would never, ever be. Of course, the pieces fell in place before she could explain, "What," said Voldemort in a silky tone of voice that simply promised pain was to come, "has he done now?"

Narcissa began screaming several minutes later, and would only stop for several minutes at a time, long enough to gather her breath to scream some more, until she very nearly lost her voice after almost an hour writhing in agony on the floor at his feet. The screams were actually something of a distraction, as the Dark Lord let his thoughts wander, and he realized that he had once again underestimated Harry Potter. Though he would never admit it, he was impressed that Harry had learned from every mistake: He had truly underestimated the child the night he was reborn, and failed to kill him as a result. He had then underestimated the strength of arms that the child could bring to bear in a crisis, costing him the knowledge of the Prophecy - momentarily at least. Now the boy... man. The man had shown a level of cunning and maturity he had not expected to find in any opponent. Lord Voldemort found himself quietly admiring what Harry had done. 'To think that old man Dumbledore used to be the greatest of my enemies. I fear that I have underestimated what this child is truly capable of. If nothing else, it will make the coming days... interesting...' That he could possibly loose the coming war, never crossed his mind.

Indeed, while Harry had deprived him of the Malfoy family fortune, which was no small proportion of his war chest, there was more than enough money available, especially since they no longer had to be overly concerned with recruiting Death Eaters: They could quite literally make them as necessary, he only had to keep the "originals" safe to ensure the survival of all of the effingus. If there was one thing he would like to change, it would be having Lucius Malfoy screaming under the Cruciatus, alongside his wife. He smiled ever so slightly at the thought, 'Their screaming together would make such sweet music.'

The real Lucius Malfoy was currently rotting in Azkaban for having been foolish enough to have been captured in that Department of Mysteries fiasco barely a month ago. His trial was fast approaching, and something would have to be done about that. Something else occurred to him that actually caused a snort of laughter to escape him, and it held true: With her marriage annulled, Narcissa would revert to being a member of the Black family. But Lord Potter-Black - how the term grated on Voldemort's nerves - had then excommunicated both women from the Family. A second snort of laughter had several of the Death Eaters staring at him for the merest fraction of a second before they returned their gazes to the floor: Narcissa and Draco were no longer Malfoys or Blacks. They simply had no name!

Watching her beloved Dark Lord sit upon his throne, sniggering at something, Bellatrix stared at him for a long few moments and then returned her gaze to the crack in the floor tiles beneath her. How she ached to have vengeance upon Harry Potter, now more than ever before. He had humiliated her beloved on two, three, four... many occasions and had now struck out at her personally. Not that she gave a damn about her husband - The union between the houses of Black and Lestrange had long been a political match without love - and the fact that she was no longer a part of a House of traitors and other such half bloods suited her quite well. She gazed up at him one more time, the adoration in her eyes mixed with something. She could only pray that he would see it, especially since her status now, without house or name, meant that nothing could stand in her way of being the mother to the pure blood heir of Voldemort's Empire.

Lord Voldermort's thoughts were far, far away from even considering his future progeny - but then considering he planned to rule forever, he really did not have need to consider children. What he was considering however, was a demonstration of the strength and power of his Death Eaters. They had kept their activities far too low key, so much so that they were being marginalized in the wizarding press. No, Lord Voldemort decided, it was time for the Dark Mark to inspire terror and fear once again! And he knew just where to start, "Send Wormtail to me!" he said softly, "And if he is late, he will know of my displeasure."

He turned his gaze to a quivering and shaking Narcissa, "You," he said, "May leave!" She rose shakily to her feet, barely able to stand, and bowed, nearly collapsing as she did so. But she was able to walk from the throne room, head held high, earning her a measure of respect from the witches and wizards that had watched her suffer with expressions of cruel delight.


	6. Chapter 65 - Broken Wards and Shattered

A/N:

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 65

Broken Wards and Shattered Streets

In his fifteen or so years of life, Harry realized that the prospect of opening a parchment scroll had only been this unnerving, and simply put, terrifying, on one other occasion in his short existence. But then, he reasoned, he was not the only one to eye the stack of furled parchments, that seemed to - even if they did - give the few who had sat their OWLs just a few months before the gaze of death. "Would rather face down a Grimm," muttered Neville, "Or the Mad Bitch Lestrange."

"Two Grimms," muttered Harry, "And you can throw a Dragon, lake full of Grindylows, pissed off Merpeople, fifty effingus and another Dragon in there on my account."

Given that his friends had been spending most of their days, if not most of their nights, at Potter Manor, it was no small wonder that their respective parents had merely forwarded on their mail via the Floo. Granted, there were always going to be some delays given Harry's nearly paranoid levels of security. None commented on that, for obvious reasons, but it did mean they tended to get their post about a day late, but once everyone had taken their mail, there were only two scrolls of parchment left, addressed to Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. The only two fifth years in the group, finally faced the proverbial music. Even though it was early in the morning, Harry had no compulsions about opening a bottle of Firewhisky under the watchful gaze of his friends. He smirked, ever so slightly, "In victory I shall deserve it, in defeat..."

Neville snatched the bottle out of his hand, leaving Harry staring stupidly at the cork for a moment, "Victory or defeat," said Neville, "I'm just glad my gran ain't around to see me do this!" Neville took a long pull from the bottle, then broke the wax seal, and took another long pull straight from the bottle. He didn't bother reading the preamble, but skipped to the second half of the parchment. The pin drop silence was deafening, seemingly stretching on forever, "Did all right," he finally said, "Seven OWLs," he laughed, "Don't ask me how, but I even managed to scrape an Exceeded Expectations in Potions!"

All eyes were suddenly on Harry and he found himself copying Neville first action: He took a long pull from the bottle, "For good luck," said Harry, 'God knows, I've used up just about all the luck I was born with,' he thought darkly. He began to read, and following Neville, skipped the opening paragraphs of preamble about grade boundaries, going straight to the actual results. Each subject was broken into two parts: A practical and theoretical component with a grade for each being worth 60% and 40% respectively where appropriate. He was not the least bit concerned about how the individual components had gone. He was just interested in his overall scores.

All things considered, Harry felt that his OWL results were somewhat better than he could have possibly expected. Considering that he had not even bothered to show up for the Divination Exam, let alone attend class for most of the year, he was somewhat surprised that they actually bothered to save him a slot at the examination. He looked up from the parchment at the six pairs of eyes watching him, waiting for a response, "Passed everything," he said, "Except for Divination and History of Magic... no real surprises considering I didn't show up for the Divination exam." He didn't have to say anything about History of Magic, "So seven OWLS."

"Which is why," said George, "I am adamant that we should have gotten "EE" in everything..."

"Because you exceed expectations just by showing up for class!" the rest chorused with a laugh.

With a wave of his hand, Harry banished the bottle of whiskey but with a wince, lost control of his magic, allowing the bottle to crash to the floor. He frowned as he struggled to decipher the magic that had just slapped him in the head from behind fully raised mind shields It was a message of some kind,, but he was spared further headache when Winky popped in unannounced, "Harry, ward breach upon Grimmauld Place!"

Considering the injuries she had sustained, she was in remarkably good health. Harry had not been able to convince her that she needed to let her wounds heal fully before returning to work. Magic of course had healed the physical, but according to Dobby, she now had nightmares - something Harry could relate to - but she managed. "Thank you Winky,"

That explained the minor headache, "Somebody," he growled, "owes me another bottle of Firewhisky! Legion! On me!"

They exploded into action, racing each other, almost good naturedly out of the sitting room that overlooked the front lawn, up to the first floor armory. Changed in seconds, they grabbed the Goblin made portkey and vanished. They reappeared in an alley not far from Number 12 - it was Tonk's common arrival point, and somehow, he was unsurprised that he could see the building. 'Fidilius must have lapsed when Sirius...died,' thought Harry. The thought brought him a moment's sadness, which devolved to anger, that someone was violating his Godfather's house, more specifically, _his _house!

"Winky!" she appeared almost silently next to him, "Find our friends in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and tell them of this break in!" She apparated without a sound.

"Broad daylight," said Fred.

"Lotsa muggles about," continued George.

"Takes courage," remarked Neville.

"And intelligence," added Luna, "Magic makes us silent, invisible, almost undetectable to Muggles, and they are the perfect cover for such a crime. We hide in plain sight much of the time. That is precisely what our enterprising criminal associate is doing."

"Doesn't matter," said Harry, "I'm gonna find him, then I'm going to beat him to within an inch of his life, then I'm going to have him thrown in Azkaban." They walked out of the alley, and crossed the street to Number 12. Bringing up the rear, Ginny cast series of charms that would keep the muggles at bay for the moment.

The moment they stepped in to the foyer, their demeanors shifted, as they took up positions covering the entrance hall of the most ancient and noble house of Black, "Find and take him alive... if you can."

They didn't have to look very far, or all that hard: From the kitchen came the high pitched, half squealed half shriek of rage, followed by a more masculine - albeit slightly effeminate - shout of surprise and fear. The sound of breaking crockery, the metal rain of falling cutlery, followed by a large man shaped object wrapped in a rags that burst out of the kitchen followed by a somewhat ragged looking house elf: The infamous Kreacher.

The stench coming off the retreating figure however, left the twins with no doubt about who this was as they took aim, but uncertain who they should be aiming at: Mundungus who was still trying to escape, or Kreacher who seemed to be having the time of his life beating the stuffing out of the intruder with two levitated saucepans, while spanking him repeatedly with the handle of a broom as yet another chinaware projectile streaked out of the kitchen and smashed in the back of Fletcher's left knee, stumbling him.

It was that moment when Fletcher looked up, to find seven wands pointed in his general direction, as Kreacher, breathing heavily ceased his assault, "Filthy mudblood master has returned. But Kreacher won't serve! Kreacher won't!"

Harry glared at the ancient house elf. He had heard the stories about the... creature standing in front of him, and wasn't too sure what to do with, it. He was sure that Sirius had a point when he'd said that the elf had spent 12 years alone with only the ravings of his mad old mother's portrait for company."Kreacher! Shut up!"

For a long moment it seemed as if the house elf would disobey him, but finally, whatever magic that governed the house, and his ownership of it, also governed Kreacher, who feel silent, but clearly against his will. Harry would have to decide what to do with Kreacher later. For now, "Mundungus Fletcher: I've heard a lot about you - and none of it, is good." He managed a stare that reminded the prone Fletcher of Mad Eye and he shivered as Harry's voice went from "friendly conversation" to "growl of death" with a single question, "What the fuck are you doing, in my, house?"

"I'm just here... searching for something..." he said evasively, "With Sirius dead and all, I figured I could just grab some of this old junk and sell..." Harry was not stupid enough to believe a half truth, given that it was couched in a lie. Nor was he about to let the sniveling bastard before him slide.

"Let's pretend for a moment," said Harry acidly, "that I'm not a complete moron. I somehow doubt that you could have gotten past the protections in place without some kind of assistance," Harry gave Kreacher a sidelong glance, "So, talk!"

Fletcher hesitated, and that was the only excuse Harry needed, "Kreacher?"

There was a pitter patter of tiny, sock clad feet followed moments later by a blaze of shinning copper. There was a momentary, perhaps even fragment of a whimper followed by a pair of near deafening clangs that mingled with a shriek of agony: Kreacher had eschewed magic and clobbered Fletcher in the ribs, twice with a saucepan.

The blows rained down systematically. Clearly, Kreacher was enjoying himself as he worked Fletcher over from head to foot, "Call him off!" screamed Fletcher, "Call him off!" Kreacher had raised the heavy bottomed pan again

"Kreacher," said Harry, "Stop!" The last blow landed with a resounding crack on the man's raised forearm, and everyone winced. Something had broken, at least cracked on that last blow.

Kreacher's thin, almost emancipated arms trembled, almost struggling to hold the pan over his target, "Perhaps, just once more, filthy mudblood master?" suggest Kreacher, "For luck?"

Colin sniggered, "Go on Harry, once more."

"Maybe later. Unconscious idiots don't answer questions. But if he needs more persuading," Harry simply nodded towards Kreacher who was still holding his weapon of choice upright. "So what were you searching for, and more specifically, who told you it was here? Don't think I won't make sure that arm is broken."

The others stared at Harry in surprise. They knew that he had changed, but they were now wondering just how much he had changed in such a short period of time. There was a time, not that long ago when Harry would have thought twice, if not three times before breaking someone's arm. Now however, they were convinced that not only would he do it, but more specifically, that he would not hesitate.

Mundugus Fletcher, thought differently, or perhaps he was afraid of his more, erstwhile "employer" on this particular exercise. Harry shrugged, "_Ossis Effergo!" _Fletcher screamed and Harry stared down and sighed, "That must have hurt," he said, "Now do I have to break your other arm?"

"Snape! Severus Snape!" shouted Fletcher, "He told me what the wards were! I swear it was him! He told me how to get past all of them! He told me to, to mess the place up! Look like a robbery. There's nothing to steal here anyway. I dunno why he wanted me..."

"Harry," said Neville. He was cut off by an explosion in the street, followed by a second one moments later, "That, does not sound good..."

"Yeah I know. we've been had!" He swore quietly to himself. Twice he'd been suckered, and he silently vowed that it would never, ever happen again. As far as Harry was concerned, a certain greasy haired fuck had shown his true colors at last. He made a silent vow that he was going to deal with one Severus Snape, personally, regardless of whether he returned to Hogwarts.

Right on cue, the front door exploded inwards, a shower of wooden and stone shards that would have perforated anyone standing in the Foyer. While doing some damage to the property, the shockwave disturbed the slumber of Ms. Walburga Black who immediately began shouting obscenities and screaming insults about the teenagers in the kitchen. "We need to shut that bitch up," thought Harry. That would wait as the first of the Death Eaters spilled through the shattered doorway.

"Firing line! Cut 'em down!" Mundungus whimpered something, "Kreacher, he's all yours."

Kreacher, as it happened, was something of a sadist, and he smiled and bowed ever so slightly to Harry. Suddenly, Harry knew just how to keep Kreacher in line as the elf snapped its fingers and Mundungus Fletcher found himself in the bowels of the House of Black, in some pain, having landed on his broken arm and the skeleton of the former occupant of his jail cell in the depths of the bowels of Grimmauld Place.

They had their enemy coming in from one direction, and he found himself wondering, "Kreacher!" the elf appeared, "These people seek to violate the sanctity of the Noble, and Ancient house of Black. Will you defend it?"

The small creature nodded firmly, "For my house, I will fight!"

One less problem. "Ginny, Neville, cover the rear and ward the place as heavily as possible. Luna, Colin: High ground, we need to know how many and from what direction. Twins, with," he ducked as a spell lanced through the air, "Keep their fucking heads down!"

"We got something..."

"... that will help with that!"

They pulled a pair of cylindrical objects from a pouch on their belt. Harry eyed them critically,

"Those grenades?" he asked casually.

Fred tossed one to him, "Not quite. We got the idea from something muggles call a "Flash Bang." A Flash Bang is lots of noise, blinding light, stuns and incapacitates for a short while."

"But we've made them... better."

Harry found himself wondering whether he would ever be able to tell the twins apart without them identifying themselves first. "And how's that?" he asked popping up to let a cutting curse decapitate a Death Eater. He frowned as he recognized the face: It was another of the thrice damned effingus.

"Well, the muggle ones produce one big flash of light and sound," whoever it was, grinned almost maniacally, "We call these nine-bangs." Harry heard the sharp click of a pin being pulled, followed by the metallic ping as the hexagonal cylinder rolled down the corridor, followed seconds later by a second one, unnoticed in the chaos of all the spells going back and forth.

They detonated a second apart. It was like being at ground zero of a crate of Dr. Fillibuster's fireworks going up all at once - and they were a good six feet away behind solid cover. In such close confines, the proved that they were more than mere stun devices. The trio moved forward, Harry on point with the Twins flanking him. There was no hesitation as Harry simply numbed his heart and killed, and killed, and killed. The twins hesitated and then followed suit. A single pass and they had cleared out the entrance hall, leaving a trail of twenty dead Death Eaters behind them. Slaughtered, they took up positions at the front windows and peeked out from behind the curtains.

Neville's hawk patronus passed through the floor, and spoke, "At least twenty five out there. They've blocked the street at both ends - looks like they blew up the houses, street, and then some just to seal us in." Harry's first thought was for all the muggles caught up in the middle of something they could not understand. Then he looked out in to the street and realized that there were no muggles left standing. They were all dead. For the first time in many months, after having killed countless dozens, if not hundreds of effingus, that bled, that died, he felt his gorge rise.

The ring on his hand grew warm and he looked down at it, deciphering the coded message with ease. Their rear was secure. They didn't have a lot of options open to them: 'It's only a matter of time before the Ministry shows up, Aurors and all. Worse yet, the Order of the fucking plucked chicken - sorry Fawkes - would love to get their headquarters back.'

A barrage of spells lanced into the front of the house, gouging scars in the stone work and shattering windows. Knives of broken glass spiraled through the air. Their return fire was meager, but they succeeded in downing another two Death Eaters. The hawk descended through the floor again, "Reinforcements! At least another twenty on foot!"

Harry cursed. Numbers wise, they were back where they started. it was going to take the Ministry Auror's and the Order to even the odds enough. At its simplest level, it was a numbers game, and they simply had more. As long as they had the effingus, they would always have more... but then again... Harry too could play the numbers game.

"Kreacher!" the elf appeared, looking as sour and sulky as he had when Harry first arrived. "Can you lower certain wards in certain areas of the house?"

The elf nodded sullenly, "But filthy mud-blood master can do it himself." It was clear that the elf was as insane as they humanely come, but now was not the time or place to deal with that, "But if filthy master wants, Kreacher can do it."

"Lower the anti-portkey wards around the back garden," he ordered. The elf nodded and vanished. He had no way of knowing just how many he was condemning to death. But then, he also had no way of knowing how many could, or would answer such a summons. But unless they could even the numbers, they were all dead anyway. He focused his thoughts, tapped the ring with his hand and sent out the encoded message.

"Legion Core under siege. Battle ready. Emergency Portkey Redirect: Back garden, no. 12, Grimmauld Place, London."

The exchanges of spell fire were now more than a little one sided. Four wands against the forty were bad odds. Just like the Ministry. 'No,' he thought firmly, 'Not like the Ministry. I made that mistake once, I am not doing it again!"

Harry moved to the back garden, and did the only thing that he could possibly do, given the circumstances: He waited.


	7. Chapter 66- It Begins

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 66

It Begins.

Admittedly, the rings worn by every member of the Legion were not designed to transmit messages across an entire country, but as Harry had hoped, there were more than enough Legionnaires within range to receive his call to arms.

Alice Tolipan was lounging in her backyard on a hammock with a book when she felt the ring grow warm. The message took her only a moment to decipher. She felt a flash of fear when she read it and not for the first time in her life hesitated. This was in many ways the biggest decision in her life - second to the decision to actually attend Hogwarts. Her parents had supported her choice, but sometimes, she wondered if they regretted. She had no regrets, but now. She stood, "Mom! Dad!" she yelled, "I have to go! I'll be back as soon as I can!"

"Where are you going Alice?" her mother shouted back.

For the first time, she hesitated, wondering if she should lie, or tell the truth. Telling the truth, meant there was no way they would let her go, especially if it was to fight a war. "I... I just have to go."

She was already on her feet and running through the house when her father blocked her way, out the front door, "Alice! You are not going anywhere, unless you answer the question." She looked at her father, and didn't need to look behind her to know that her mother was blocking her way out of the sitting room.

"I... just..." she shook her head, "Please, I have to go!"

"You can go, just as soon as you tell us where," said her mother reasonably. It takes nerves of steel to be a parent. But it takes nerves of another kind to be a parent of a muggleborn witch, who disappears to a school you can never visit, can never even see. It takes a whole other set of nerves to accept that your child will spent their live, literally, in another world, and in many ways become the black sheep of the family.

Alice of course, had not told her parents anything at all about the Legion, or about Voldemort, his Death Eaters and the chaos that they had caused in the past, and had begun to cause once again. "To... help some friends," she said finally. "Mom, dad, please. Let me go!"

"Who are these friends?" challenged her father.

"From... school," she said, "Look I don't have time..." she let her wand snap in to her hand from its wrist holster, something every Legionnaire had. Her parents had been grateful to learn that she was a witch, and the explanations for so many strange occurrences. But now she had her wand in her hand, and her parents, who had watched their daughter, grow and mature by leaps and bounds, found themselves wondering, how far would she go to get out? More importantly, how far would her parents push? "Please move," she begged.

Parents can be worse than the devil's own when it comes to things that they have no real way of understanding, or even beginning to comprehend. their refusal left her with no choice, whatsoever, "I just... I love you both, you know that? Right?" Her parents stared at her, both of them blocking the front door.

"Of course we know, but what is..."

She hugged them both briefly, "Then please, don't think less of me for disobeying you. I'm doing what is right, instead of what is easy." She kissed her mother on the cheek and took three steps back. She twisted the ring on her left pinkie in a full circle, and vanished, leaving her parents staring in shock at the vacant space where their daughter had been standing just moments before.

Cho Chang read the message and rose to her feet, " I'll be back when I'm back!" With that shout to her family, she ran out of the house and ducked in to an alley across the street from her home. A twist of the ring and she was gone in a swirl of light, color and rushing wind.

Lavender Brown and Leanne Kincaid were enjoying an ice-cream at Florean Fortescues. They received the message at almost the same moment. One glance at each other and they vanished in their seats, leaving behind a single Galleon to cover their bill of 19 Sickles, and 15 Knuts.

The Patil twins were at opposite ends of their home. As twins, they shared a connection, nothing as strong as that of the "Twinned Terrors of Hogwarts," but strong enough that they always knew where the other was. Their father and mother were deep in discussion when both their daughters burst in. Her father took a moment to study them: Modern clothing, wands in hand. "Father, mother." Padma said, "The... Light, calls for us to stand and fight."

"Then it is time," said her father holding out his hand. Padma took her father hand, while Parvati took her mothers. in a flash of light, the entire family were travelling by Portkey.

Susan Bones shouted for her mother, and all she had to say was "Harry's in trouble!" Holding on to her daughter's arm the portkey activated. The former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement accompanied her daughter in to battle.

As the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Pius Thicknesse was fully aware of the developing crisis in Grimmauld Place. The first explosions had triggered the standard response: a team was sent to investigate. That had been almost twenty minutes ago, and the team had not reported. That had immediately kicked things up a notch: A twelve strong team of Aurors, lead by Kingsly Shacklebolt were preparing to depart when Aurors Tonks and Moody burst in with a simple message: , "Death Eater assault on Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Harry Potter is in the thick of it. You all know what that means."

Shacklebolt nodded grimly, "Then the first team is dead. And we've got a fight on our hands."

"Indeed we do," growled Moody, "Let's try to avoid sharing their fate." Fourteen Aurors apparated from Auror Command and two more teams of twelve would deploy in the coming minutes to the first major engagement of the Second Wizarding War

In the back garden of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Harry leaned against a wall. He could hear the battle, and could tell that it was not going well. He stayed and waited, because one more wand, even his wand, magic and skill would do little more than dent the tide of numbers being brought to bear against them. Death Eaters were close to a hundred in number now and Bellatrix Lestrange was leading them - or at least it looked like Bellatrix - there were at least four of them running around out there.

Lee Jorden, Luca Caruso, Nigel Wolpert and Terry Boot were amongst the first to arrival. They were dressed ready for battle. No robes. Jeans, T-shirts. They could hear the orchestra of chaos. Two of them took a step forward, and then a step back. Harry could see the nervous fear upon their faces. They had not even joined the battle yet. He realized that there was a good chance they were going to be slaughtered: None of them had any kind of armor beyond whatever shields they could muster. He shook his head: It was an oversight he was going to have to fix, quickly.

Harry said nothing, continued to watch and wait. He did not wait in vain. Within minutes of his message going out, the ranks of the Legion swelled. Four, then another six, then fifteen more arrived via portkey.

He continued to wait and watch. Within minutes, he had a force of some fifty, and he was surprised to find not only Legionnaires, but adults as well. It was the adults he was more concerned about: At least his Legionnaires were trained. The adults could be lambs to the slaughter.

After five minutes, he was pleased to find that almost seventy people were gathered there, waiting for something. For him no doubt. He continued to watch, and wait. He took a deep breath and pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against. No running from it now, "Legionnaires, and friends," he began, demanding their attention over the metallic clang and sound of shattering glass. It was clear to Harry, most of them were scared at best, terrified at worst.

"Voldemort's," there were a few pathetic shudders at the name but at least nobody cried out in fear. None of his Legionnaires had even blinked, "Death Eaters are out there, in the street… at least a hundred of the bastards. They have taken lives, they destroy homes, and they crush families under their boot. No more! You do not flinch at the name Voldemort! Then do not flinch before his Death Eaters!"

He was improvising, making it up as he went along, and it seemed to be working, "Today, we will match them! Blow for blow! Spell for spell! This is the day, we fight with our lives! We stand and we fight! And we send them a message! That this is our country! That they simply cannot take what they want! That we fight for a better life beyond this battle! Beyond this war! We stand for the Light! Hell! We ARE the Light!

Seventy voices roared their approval, and it gave the combatants a moment's pause. It brought hope to the Legion's few defenders, and a mounts questioning doubt to the Death Eaters. He held his wand overhead, "They have already slain countless muggles out there. They were innocent men, women and children. I say no more! I say no more die this day!" Muttering spread through the ranks at that, "We! Are! Legion! Forever against the Darkness!" he shouted.

They roared back at him, "Forever against the Darkness!" and he turned, slowly, deliberately and began to walk. He flexed his left hand, almost experimentally and a half shield shimmered in to existence. "Right then," he said, more to himself than anyone else: "Charge!" Through the ruined hulk of the Black ancestral home. they emerged from the kitchen and simply spilled out on to the battlefield.

An explosive roar sprang from the depths of Harry, and it made those entering battle alongside him wonder: From what private hell had he summoned that particular roar of anger, hurt and betrayal. It was the clap of thunder that heralds a hurricane of destruction and death, rushing forward, charging right down the throat of the entrenched Death Eaters, who had taken cover behind whatever they could find. There was no controlling them. Spells rent the air, magic sizzled as it flew back and forth between the combatants. a hundred duels seemed to erupt around him, even as Harry flew and slew through their ranks.

At his side and flanking him, the Legion Core fought with him as they had trained with him, seven individuals in perfect synchronicity, covered each other with shields, without hesitation, using curses well beyond their years - curses that they should not even know. It looked almost as if the seven teens had choreographed every step, every move they would make beforehand. Dozens fell on both sides, and the Legion fought on, punching straight through the center of the Death Eater line, killing anyone in black robes with a silver mask.

By good fortune and luck more than anything else, The Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry's Wizards appeared, on the far left, opening up a second front, fully engulfing and overrunning the flank completely. Noting the new arrivals, Harry shifted his momentum, turning to the right.

Where Harry went, the Legion followed, it became a close quarters battle, and it turned bloodier still as several Death Eater drew short blades and knives. Not that it mattered, or even slowed them as months of training and drills took over, and more than one Death Eater was surprised to find themselves rapidly disarmed before being gunned down where they stood. The not-so-fortunate Death Eaters were not so much disarmed, as dismembered and left to bleed to death.

The Death Eaters were routed, and even Bellatrix Lestrange's near complete insanity did not hide the fact that this battle was lost as she lead the few surviving to the end of the road, blocked by the carnage of the explosion they had caused to seal the street from muggle interference - not that it mattered as they were beyond the wards now and could apparate or portkey to safety.

There mere sight of the black haired witch however, was more than Neville could bear to stand. He had prayed to whatever Gods that existed for a chance to face the thing that had taken his family, any hope of a normal life and shut it up in St. Mungo's Closed Ward forever. Somebody up above had listened, and he was not going to squander the opportunity, "Bellatrix Lestrange is mine!" he roared. A bloodlust overtook as he cast a chain of stunners, blasting curses, bombardment hexes and cutting curses. It was enough to force Bellatrix to take cover, and long enough for the Legion Core to cast anti-apparation and anti portkey wards, sealing any avenue of escape.

It left Neville and Bellatrix standing in the ruined street. The air fairly crackled with electricity as spells flew back and forth between the few Death Eaters and Legionnaire's still engaged in the brutal swirling scrum of combat. He only prayed it was the real Bellatrix Lestrange this time, and not a damned copy. But then, there was an easy way to find out, "Bellie?" sing-songed Neville, who wore a dark smile on his face.

That was all it took to get under the skin of the Death Eater in charge as she screamed in fury, "Don't call me that! Never call me that! Never ever call me that!" Accompanying each fragment of deranged babbling was a killing curse. Neville easily dodged, ducked and used a broken car door to deflect the third. Everyone watching instinctively understood that this duel was personal.

"Legion! Secure the area!" Harry taped out a message on his ring, and it went out to those gathered. It simply read: "No prisoners." The carnage they had wrought left few standing, except for a single pocket of fierce resistance that seemed to be holding off both the Aurors and Order with ease. "Prank Masters, find out what's going on over there," he ordered, and turned his attention back to the fight. This was not his fight and no matter the outcome, this was going to be one for the record books.

It kicked off with a spectacular ferocity from Bellatrix Lestrange who lead with the Death Eater's classic killing curse. Neville ducked low and rolled to the left _and _forwards, closing the distance between them as she cut loose with yet another bolt of sickly green death.

Rolling aside again, Neville came up, wand blazing. Harry could only watch, impressed with not just the speed, but also the accuracy of his friend's casting: He had bracketed her perfectly, forcing her to raise a shield to defend herself. Neville took the opportunity, reaching to his belt and pulling out a number of small wooden objects that he hurled at her feet.

Harry frowned and blinked in surprise as the wood shimmered and came to life. Neville suddenly had a half dozen wolves charging towards Bellatrix. He took his eyes off the fight for only a moment, to read the message from one of the twins. "Half a dozen Bellatrix Lestranges, surrounded but in heavy cover."

"Prosecute with extreme prejudice." Was Harry's reply.

The wolves were busy snapping, snarling and lunging at Bella, making it impossible for Neville to target the demented bitch, but she was too busy dodging to take the offensive even though four of the wolves had already been slain. Neville's response was to adopt a shotgun like approach - literally. He levitated chunks of stone and rubble and shattered them to fist sized lumps and banished them.

Slaying the last of the wolves, she turned right in the path of Neville's stone rain. She was battered backwards, stumbled and fell. A snarling Neville closed for the kill.

Blood sprayed, splattering the ruined pavement and Neville fell back on the defensive, his left arm bleeding heavily. Bella was quick to capitalize, taking Neville in the chest with a banishing charm, that sent him skidding backwards. He rolled aside as a pair of cutting curses gouged through the asphalt, and rose back to his feet with some difficulty.

His bloodlust was absolute. Everything was red tinged to Neville. He felt no pain. only anger and hatred, not just for what Bellatrix Lestrange had done to his mother, to his father but at himself for his inability to kill the bitch that had scarred his life. He hated her not so much for what she had done, but more for what she had taken from him: The possibility of normal, happy life where his parents knew him by name, as a person. Where his grandmother would be the "creepy old lady" who visited or they visited once in a while.

The gaze of the truly deranged locked with that of the truly enraged and in that moment, a measure of understanding passed between the two combatants: Only one of them was going to walk away from this alive.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Neville blinked first, "Sectumsempra!" screamed Bellatrix. He felt the crackle of the spell as it shaved off some of his hair but Neville didn't notice. He was done fighting fair: This was a duel to the death.

"Thys-utas vilvimia eaphrt!" was Neville's retort. The crowd blinked, and Bella herself hesitated as Neville pronounced the words with ease. The gasp of indrawn breath was audible as Neville seemingly conjured ice from thin air. It was long, at least several feet in length, smoking with intense cold. They looked like roughly hewn spears. The projectiles streaked towards their target.

To her credit, Bella countered with a wall of flame that devoured the ice, creating a wall of steam and vapor. However it failed to stop all of the projectiles, as a pair of icy projectiles emerged unscathed from the flames. A golden shield descended over Lestrange and the icy projectiles struck the shield with a deep gong like sound.

Neville slumped to one knee, the fight, his injuries and the raw magic required to cast the Ice Lance having drained him. She cackled, maintaining her shield as she advanced forward several paces and let the cloud of steam dissipate. She took one look at Neville on one knee, with his wand still raised. From behind the safety of her shield, she started to mock him, "You fight well Longbottom! Better than your parents ever did! For that, I will grant you a quick, though agonizing dea-"

The demented witch fired a stunner, which Neville easily shielded, "Your father fought, as did your mother. Where your father died as a man, your mother whined, begged and pleaded." She fired a piercing hex. It punched through Neville's shield, but the young man was quick enough to roll aside. It tore open the muscle on his calf, but he made no sound, merely grit his teeth as he stared up at Bellatrix, hate making his eyes glow red. "Did anyone ever tell you what Barty Crouch Junior and Lucius Malfoy did to your mother, while your father was forced to watch, before I tortured them in to insanity?"

Only recently had Harry made use of a Goblin spell that had devastating impact upon any magical shield. The spell fed off its casters magic, to create a feedback loop that would incapacitate - at least momentarily, if not stun and quite possibly kill if sufficient magic was channeled into a shield. Neville added the word of amplification and cast, "Prie-ghaz Penitenziagite!"

Given that they were barely six feet apart, it was impossible for Neville to miss. Uncertain what exactly had just been cast in her direction, the witch did the most common sense thing, which was also completely the wrong thing to have done: She reinforced her shield.

Neville simply smiled as the spell struck the shield and expanded outwards, wrapping itself around the lower portion of the shield, seemingly being absorbed in the ground, which was partly true as it was the path of least resistance, to the source of magic powering the shield. Bellatrix Lestrange screamed in pain as the feedback loop sent raw magic to the very core of her being. Blue white lightning danced up and down her body as the feedback loop lived up to its name and blasted her completely off her feet, her wand flying from her hand.

Having blasted apart much of the street and surrounding houses to ensure that they had a measure of privacy during their "battle," that very carnage they had caused would prove to be her undoing as she came to a bone shattered halt, back first against the ruined wall of number 14, Grimmauld Place, with the concrete rebar that helped keep the building upright, perforating her through the chest and stomach.

More than one of the gathered audience felt more than a little nauseated as they watched Bellatrix come to a rather pointed end. But it was far from over at least for Neville, as he dragged himself to his feet, swaying drunkenly as he stumbled forward, struggling to put one foot in front of the other as he closed the distance. His hands were shaking, but his grip on his wand was a white knuckled death grip "Accio wand!" It was the first spell that he had actually said aloud.

"You used this wand," Nevile held it up in front of her eyes, "To torture my parents into insanity. Fitting, don't you think, that I use it to end your miserable life?" Bellatrix gasped, coughing up a lungful of brackish black blood. The hate was clearly visible in her eyes. If she had been able to gather some breath, she would have used it to curse the wizard standing before her.

"Dguntec!" The spell took several moments to gather and build before exploding from the end of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand. He didn't miss. The arrow of fire punching straight through the neck of the already six times impaled witch. Neville watched as the flesh charred and crumbled, until finally her head rolled free, across the ground. An even, and satisfyingly magical seven.

He staggered back a step, and simply stared at the ruined corpse of his enemy as the flames spread and began to consume the corpse. He whispered, more to himself than for the benefit of those who had watched Neville Longbottom battle, defeat and execute Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the most feared of all Death Eaters, "Mother, father, you are, avenged."

He turned his attention to the gathered crowd and the Legion, but his strength failed him as he slipped down to his knees. He pocketed the wand of the woman whose actions had shaped so much of his life, and holstered his own. He smiled weakly, "Right then, who's next?"

Ginny stepped forward, and put an arm around his shoulders and helped him back to his feet, "No more today. I think you've done enough, and my boyfriend needs to rest." She shot Harry a glance and he nodded in agreement.

Picking up a stone, he converted it in to a Portkey and tossed it to Ginny. She caught it with ease. They vanished in a swirl of colored light and wind as Harry turned his attention to a small matter. He was unsurprised to see the twins walking towards him with pensive expressions, "What?" he asked.

"We'll tell you later," said Fred.

"But for now," said George soberly, "We have wounded that need attention."

It was unspoken, but their fallen needed to be laid to rest, and there was the matter of a Horcrux that Kreacher was hiding.

The war had truly begun.


	8. Chapter 67 - The Wounded

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 67

The Wounded

The haze of war hung like a joyless carpet. The street was ruined, and there was quite literally nothing left of one half of Grimmauld Place - and not just number 12: A total of six houses, once large stately manor homes, were reduced to ruins from which flames crackles and danced with unmatched glee.

The fighting had been over for perhaps five minutes. In those five minutes, a lot had happened. The Ministry had shown up in force, and started by sealing the street beneath an impressive spread of overlapping charms and wards. Time was against them all as the Muggles were already aware that something significant had occurred in that particular street.

The sheer scale of the carnage boggled the minds of those gathered, all of whom could not believe that there were almost two hundred dead, clogging the streets and the ruined houses. Almost a third of the dead were Muggles, truly caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Countless families had been destroyed in less than thirty minutes of violent, close quarters combat.

Harry leaned against the ruins of Number 12 and simply stared. That there were so many dead concerned him. That almost half of them were Death Eaters did not worry him in the least: It was the muggles, and more importantly, the Legion's own casualties: Seventy had shown up to fight, at least seventeen were dead, and almost twice as many critically wounded. Everyone else would be classed as wounded. But they had won. At least that was the general feeling, the general mood: That they had won. There were no loud, joyous celebrations, because Harry had made his opinion clear: It was no victory.

There had simply not been enough time to do it all, not the way he wanted. Harry had left the tending of the Legion's wounded to their own: He was still searching for Kreacher, in the ruins of the House of Black. After all, it was the demented creature that knew where the Horcrux was hidden. Death had told him that. What Death had not told him was that Kreacher was almost completely out of his mind and was near rabid in his defense of his family home: He had taken liberty with Harry's instructions and was defending the house against all comers: Death Eater, Order, Ministry and Legion.

The fact that the portrait of Walburga Black had been blasted off the wall, and half destroyed had not stopped her from continuing to scream abuse as loud and as fast as possible, "Filth! Scum! Mudblood Vermin!"

"Greetings and salutations," said Harry with unparalleled sarcasm, "And a good afternoon to you Mrs. Black. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

The portrait stopped for a moment, "A halfblood with some manners. A rarity indeed. Who are you, Mudblood child?" sneered the portrait. Harry had to hand it to the long dead Walburga. If her portrait had this level of condescending superiority, she could have taught Snape a thing or two about bigotry.

He grinned down at the ruined portrait, "My name is Harry James Potter, Lord of House Potter, Lord of House Black, and the Godson of Sirius Orion Black."

The portrait screamed in rage, "You filthy disgusting creature! How dare you presume to enter my home! Kreacher! Kreacher! Slay the intruder!"

Harry drew his wand, and gathered his magic to him. He knew he would have to hunt Kreacher out of the ruins of the house, but he also needed the damned creature alive if he wanted to get the Horcrux. Nobody and nothing alive would know as much about it as the demented creature that had appeared near the stairs.

Kreacher shuffled round the staircase into the hall and saw Harry standing with his foot on top of the face of his beloved mistresses painting. It was enough to send the Kreacher in a killing rage. "Kreacher! Stop!" Harry commanded, "I am the Lord of the House of Black, now the House of Potter-Black! You. Will. Obey. Me!"

Kreacher's response was to click his fingers. Harry gritted his teeth as the banishing charm smashed into his shield. It flared brightly for a moment and continued to glow as a second and third charm struck, forcing him back half a step. He drew upon his magic, halted his backwards slide and unleashed the fire hose charm. How the elf was able to attack him, was in a word, beyond him.

The torrent of water was ice cold and slammed into the elf, flinging him backwards against the wall. Harry let up and Kreacher slumped to the ground and rolled down the stairs. The elf showed remarkable grace and agility as it landed on its feet, unsteady but more than capable of fighting, as he sent a grey light at Harry.

Harry dove aside, dropping his shield, wincing as he landed atop broken glass, china and crystal. But he had avoided whatever had been sent his way, which seemed to burn through the fragment of still standing wall it struck. Better minor glass wounds than having a hole burned in his chest. The water beneath the elf's feet turned to ice, causing Kreacher to slip and fall. Wand still outstretched, Harry slapped his free hand on to the ice.

Crackles of lightning flew from between his fingertips as the lightning surged through the ice. Kreacher's head shot up as he vanished. Harry growled as he stood. He had hoped to subdue the house elf, not kill it, and that was still the way he wanted it, but it seemed that he was going to have to get a lot more... physical. He ran his finger along the gemstone in the belt of his armor and felt the corresponding tightening of the skin across his forehead as the full body shield came to life, 'I fucking hate fighting house elves.' That freed up his hands to cast multiple offensive spells, something he would no doubt need to subdue the teleporting little beast.

He dove in to the kitchen, throwing himself behind a mountain of rubble that might have been the stove once. Something struck the lower portion of it, vaporizing it completely. Harry poked his wand out and fired a series of stunners, "Kreacher! Stop this! I don't want to hurt you!" True enough, Harry would have preferred to kill the little bastard outright. He peered out, and found a pair of evilly malevolent green eyes staring at him intently from the far end of the kitchen, "You fucking pussy!" Harry roared, "If you want to fight, get your ass in to the open and fight!

"Kreacher won't obey!" The elf unleashed a trio of bone breaking hexes that worked just as well at shattering Harry's cover. His shield took the brunt of the curse, but he felt at least two of his ribs pop and then snap. He roared in anger and retaliated, channeling his rage into his spells as he cast a pair of piercing hexes with one hand. Having bracketed the house elf, Harry left him nowhere to run as the follow up banishing charm smashed him spine first in to the wall.

"You'll obey me now," growled Harry as his blasting hex literally brought the house down atop the stunned elf, burying him beneath a mountain of rubble. Harry advanced cautiously, keeping his wand trained on the pile of rubble from which only the thin hand of the house elf was poking out. Harry took his time to clear the rubble before casting a petrification spell. Not even considering taking a chance, he bound the elf's hands and ankles together with rope, and finally enervated the creature.

Kreacher's eyes snapped open almost instantly and he snarled in a rage, "Filthy half-blood! Mongrel filth thinks he -"

"Shut it," commanded Harry, "I did not give you permission to speak." The elf continued to glare at Harry, and struggled to hurl even more curses and insults for several moments before the magic that bound Kreacher to the House of Black finally took effect. The elf felt silent, but continued to glare hatefully at Harry. "Now then," said Harry, "Let's clear a couple of things up: I am your master. You will do as I command you. And what I want to do, is help you, you ignorant jerk." The hatred in the House Elf's eyes did not lesson in the slightest, "Regulus, Arcturus, Black."

With his snoutlike nose, and bloodshot eyes, Kreacher was certainly the poster child for the unloveable objects movement but at that moment, the mania that had consumed the elf faded, and he stared long and hard at Harry, "I know, everything Kreacher: The cliff, the lake, the boat, the potion, the way your master, Regulus switched the lockets and ordered you to destroy the original. You have failed in that task, until now."

The elf's eyed widened to saucers in disbelief that Harry knew everything, everything that he had never even told the mistress of the House of Black. "Kreacher, I want to finish what Regulus started. I want to make sure that he did not die for nothing. I want to help you fulfill the last orders you were given. Tell me: Where is the locket?"

Kreacher came clean at that point and confessed: He wore it around his neck. Carefully, Harry reached and found the heavy gold chain of the locket, and pulled it free. He dropped it onto the floor and cast a stasis followed by a imperturbable charm. He pulled a lead box, lined with dragon hide and deposited the foul artifact within. Hopefully that would contain it, until he could destroy it without burning a half destroyed city block to the ground.

Tucking the box into a pocket, he pulled off the gloves, and met the wide eyed, and perhaps, hopeful gaze of the House Elf still bound before him, "Kreacher, I give you my word: I will destroy this thing, today. But I have to ask you: Now that your last order from the House of Black is complete, will you serve the new house, of Potter-Black, as you served our house of old. I allow you to answer the question."

"Kreacher will not bow to worthless little half-blood." The elf said quietly, showing more sanity in that one sentence, than he had the entire day, "Kreacher, can't. Kreacher does not know how - can't learn how."

"So what's it going to be then?" asked Harry quietly, "I cannot let you go, and if you will not serve, then I don't know how I can let you live: Are you prepared to die?"

"Kreacher... Kreacher's last order from the House of Black, will be finished. You give your word?"

Harry nodded, and help up his wand, "I, Harry Potter, do swear to destroy the locket, entrusted to the House Elf Kreacher by his last master Regulus Arcturus Black." There was a flash of light. It was done.

"Then Kreacher can join his family on the wall." Harry had heard from Sirius, Tonks and Moody how the Blacks had mounted the heads of the family house elves on the wall next to the staircase. "Kreacher was a good elf... is a good elf."

"I never said I'd kill you. I said you would die," said Harry, "There's a difference."

The creature glared, "Filthy halfblood-loving master is crazy like Kreacher! He cannot deny Kreacher his reward."

Harry raised his wand, "Filthy halfblood-loving master can, because he is your master: Obliviate Maximus!" For all intents and purposes, Kreacher was dead. The body was still alive, but it was not the same Kreacher, not in mind. Imagine a computer that has just had its hard drive formatted. Hopefully, the software would ensure that the hardware did not wander around in just a tattered loin cloth that only magic kept in the air. Harry chuckled, wondering what would have happened if he had cast finite incantatem, targeting said loincloth...

Having taken the time to study and learn with both Dobby and Winky, he was aware that their magic simply, is. They have no need for spells or wands. everything they do is driven by instinct and need. Though no master Legillimens, he had enough skill to see that he had erased all of Kreacher's life. Working with a blank slate as he was, it did not take long for Harry to "adjust" Kreacher's attitude, mindset and beliefs. It nagged at Harry that this was precisely the sort of thing that Dumbledore would have done. But the alternative was to take a life. At least, this way, Kreacher would have a chance at redemption - even if he didn't know it. Harry hesitated, and then inserted a failsafe that would kill Kreacher if anyone attempted to tamper or remove the memory charm. "Enervate," whispered Harry, "Kreacher? are you alright?"

The little elf groaned as his eyes fluttered open. Keeping a stunner ready, Harry knelt next to him carefully, "Wha...what happened? Master?" Harry suppressed a smile: The magic that kept Kreacher bound to House Black, also kept him bound to the House of Potter-Black. If Harry had somehow erased that connection - something beyond his skill he was sure - Kreacher would not be calling him Master.

"It's been a... hard day," said Harry. There was no sense in hiding the truth, "Death Eaters attacked Grimmauld Place and well..." Harry gestured around him, "They've demolished a good portion of the house. Part of the roof came down on top of you, and I had to dig you out." It was the truth, albeit a rather slanted presentation of.

"Thank you master," replied Kreacher as he looked around, "I failed to protect his house," said Kreacher, "Kreacher will accept punishment for his failing."

"There will be punishment," agreed Harry, "The Goblins of Gringotts will help to rebuild this house, you will work with them and help them, and when the reconstruction is complete, you will clean this house, so that it is spotless and ensure that it is looked after. You will work closely with the other House Elves of House Potter-Black. Winky!"

To Harry's surprise, it was Dobby who appeared, "Apology from Winky. She is in the infirmary treating our wounded." Dobby lowered his gaze, "Dobby consulted with Alnwick and he agreed to lower wards for treating injured, and dead."

"But... master?" asked Kreacher suddenly, "I have... no memory of... anything?"

Harry shrugged, "The roof, falling on your head, might have something to do with. I believe that if your memories are gone, then they are gone. I am uncertain how to help you recover them. But it is something we shall explore, when you are better."

He turned to Dobby, "We will discuss punishment later," said Harry. It was the right decision as far as he was concerned, "For now," he gestured towards Kreacher, "He is a new member to the House. My friend," said Harry to Dobby, "treat him as you are treated. "

"Understood, sir!" The House Elves apparated with a sharp crack, "Enjoying the show, Mr. Dumbledore?"

The Headmaster of Hogwarts bit back a retort. Technically, Harry was correct: It was only "headmaster" during regular term time. "I am impressed that you have been able to bring Kreacher around."

Harry shrugged, but subtly slid a finger to the side of his belt. The shield was a relatively new incorporation, one he wished that they had all had during the Department of Mysteries debacle. Perhaps it would have made a difference, to the way things turned out. "I am not without my talents," he said coldly, "I take it that you have made some temporary repairs to the wards?"

"They should keep the muggles out of Number 12 in the short term, but to keep them out of Grimmauld Place, requires far more magic that I would care to expend. And it is your house, I would not want to... overstay my welcome."

"How many muggles dead?" he asked quietly.

"Our final tally is seventy-three muggles, including women and children. Almost one hundred Death Eaters were slain, but they were mostly these magical effingus. They are not particularly skilled or able combatants, but their numbers more than make up for their other shortcomings."

Harry nodded silently, and said nothing as he stared out in to the street. The carnage wrought gave him a clear line of sight to the muggles, who were busy picking up the pieces. Harry sighed. The quicker this war was over, the better for everyone. "Is that all, Mr. Dumbledore?"

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, "No, it is not," said Dumbledore, "I want to know Harry: How does it feels, to have the blood of seventeen witches and wizards upon your hands, especially since nine of them were under age?"

Harry bit back an angry retort, then changed his mind "How does it feel to have the blood of members of the Order of the Phoenix upon yours?"

"The members of the Order know full well what fighting Death Eaters involves. They knew. They understood."

"Answer the question would you?" snapped Harry, "I asked you what it felt like. I did not ask you what sanctimonious platitudes you use to comfort their families, friends and assuage your own ego."

Whatever control the headmaster had over his emotions and temper visibly frayed at that point, "I know how I feel! I know how to live with it! It is something that I still feel guilt over! Do you know how many members of the Order have died over the years?" The headmaster was practically shouting, "Since the first war? Till today's bloody skirmish? I know Harry! I know about pain and loss!"

"So. Do. I," Harry shouted back, "Need I remind you of who I am? Boy-Who-Lived? My parents! Hermione! Cedric! The Creeveys! Xenophilius Lovegood! Fleur Delacour! My dau..." He bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood, "Where you have lost followers, comrades in arms, I have lost family! Friends! Today, I lost seventeen more! What should I do to cope Dumbledore? Tell me! Tattoo their names in to my fucking chest?" The air crackled as magic built up, and they glared at each other, neither one blinking. "I led them in battle. I know that I am responsible as their leader. I killed Death Eaters today, and I know that! Let's face it Dumbledore, we're both killers. So just because I kill these... people," he spat the word, "it does not give you the right to yell at me."

"I noticed, that Legion's fallen are missing, and were gone even before the Aurors could secure the scene," said Dumbledore heatedly, "And how do you propose to cover up their deaths?"

"I don't plan on hiding anything," said Harry, "Their remains will be treated with the respect that they deserve, as warriors who fell in battle. History will remember this as the first battle of the Second Wizarding War. I will spend every Galleon in my vaults if I must, to ensure that every Legionnaire who falls is not only honored, but remembered. Unlike my parents," he said venomously, taking a single step forward, "Whose graves lay unattended for fifteen years!" Harry had not blinked, not flinched before Dumbledore's glare. The anger of the headmaster had once been enough to cower him, but that had not been the case in several years, "Get out of my house."

Harry had planned to update the headmaster on the state of the horcruxes hunt, that another one would be destroyed before the day was done. Now, he didn't bother, more out of spite than anything else. "You feel no guilt, do you Harry?" said Dumbledore as he turned, "For the lives that you have caused to be lost this day?"

"My Legionnaires," he mocked, "know full well what fighting Death Eaters involves. They knew. They understood." Dumbledore winced at having his own words thrown back in his face, "The difference, Mr. Dumbledore, is that I firmly believe that my Legionnaires would do the same thing again, without hesitation. You are going to have problems keeping your nestlings in line."

Dumbledore stepped across the wreckage and ruin, until he was standing on where the top step used to be and apparated away. Harry followed suit a few minutes later, weighed down by the Horcrux in his pocket. He intended to keep his word, and destroy it. Fyndfire was easiest. It was not a question of when, but where. Appearing in the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron, Harry strolled into the packed establishment, and it was no small wonder that everything stopped: His robes were burned through in several places, and the basilisk armor showed through. But more than that, it was the blood that had stained the robes. Some of it was his, but most of it came from the Death Eaters. "What the fuck are you people looking at?" he growled, "Never thought you'd see the Boy-Who-Lived after having fought for his life? For your lives?"

He threw a handful of Floo powder in to the flames and was gone in an instant, leaving more than one witch and wizard to stare in amazement at what they had just witnessed. It gave a few of them food for thought. Most however, would go about their business as if it was just another, average summer day.

He reappeared in the Travel Room and lost no time in making all speed for the infirmary. It was located literally down the corridor and it took him a moment to muster his courage at what would await him within. He was not sure what terrified him more: The dead, the crippled, the wounded, or the families of all of the above. He pushed open the door.

It was deathly quiet. There were so many occupied beds. He had hoped that none of the beds here would ever be occupied. But he knew that it would come to this, eventually. The wounded had been tended to expertly by the Goblins. Most of them, he had no doubt, would be home in several days. He walked amongst them, uncertain what he was supposed to say or do. Words were simply not enough.

"Blagrhast Died-dom Mr. Potter," said one of the Goblins, a healer no doubt, "If you can take a seat, we can attend to your wounds." For the first time, he felt his wounds. Though mostly minor, cumulatively, they left him aching in pain. He gulped down the potions that were placed in front of him, not noticing anything as he stared across the room of sleeping, or otherwise just resting individuals. He could feel the weight of their stares upon him, and he felt himself wondering what those stares said. "You will have to take some care for the next day or so, to ensure that those injured ribs heal fully." He nodded and rose to his feet.

He made his way to one of those awake, "Alright there Lucas?" he asked quietly.

"Alright, sir," replied Lucas. His voice was raspy, each word sounding like old paper being crumpled, "Still in, still able to fight."

Harry nodded, "Rest Lucas. You'll need your strength. I, we, the Legion, will need you."

"Legion, sir," he rasped again, "Ready for when war is waged."

He made his way, slowly, walking amongst the many wounded. It heartened him, not that they would all live, and fight again, but that they had all lived. He stopped by the bedside of every Legionnaire who was awake, not disturbing those who were asleep. It was almost a half hour before he had made his way through the infirmary, only to find Colin leaning against the wall, watching Harry silently the whole time. "Colin, you'll be here for a while?"

The young man nodded, "I'll keep an eye on them - not that it's necessary or anything with the Goblins here," he added hastily.

Harry was not sure what to say, what he could say, "Tell them, tell them all…that I appreciate everything that they have done." Colin nodded. He had not spoken overly loud, but he could feel the eyes of the wounded upon him, watching him, and he realized that he had somehow managed to say the right thing.

He stepped out and made his way downstairs, to his office. He needed a drink, perhaps more than one. Ten sounded like a good number. He found Luna waiting for him in what was his office, "Harry," she hesitated, "Those that... died today... What do you want to do?"

He shrugged, "I don't know what to do," he plucked the bottle of Firewhiskey from its rack along the wall, and collapsed in to a chair, "How does the Ministry honor Aurors who die in the line of duty? How do the Goblins honor fallen warriors? How do the House elves treat their dead? How do the Centaurs? How do they all do it? Find a way to put it all together? Don't ask me where to lay them to rest either! I'd say you could try number 7, Godric Hollow if you can find a way to fit that many caskets and coffins in the garden. I don't know Luna. I just, don't know, Get the others to help. Tell them if you have to. Tell them whatever you have to. Leave me alone."

She left with a nod, and found herself wondering just how to achieve the monumental task set before her. She was going to need a lot of help to get this done. Fortunately, she knew where to start. She stole a glance over her shoulder, hair flying as she stared at Harry: still hunched over in his chair, the bottle hanging loosely from his hand. It would not take a genius to work out that he was going to drink himself to a stupor. He had been doing that quite a bit lately, late at night when he thought nobody was paying any attention.

He drank alone, just as he chose to be alone. It did not take a genius to figure out why, considering how he was love, fate, and destiny's fickle plaything. The reasons for his drinking were many and varied. But tonight, she knew precisely why he was drinking: Their dead. They would haunt him, and he wouldn't talk about how he was feeling. Not to any of them, not to his friends. He would not want to add to their burdens, so he would carry the weight of it all himself. She left his room.

Nobody saw Harry for three days and they drew straws. Luna, drew the short one. She took a deep breath and pulled her hair back, tying it back. She stood just outside his door, and wondered how to proceed, "Dobby? Winky?" she whispered.

Both elves appeared and followed Luna's gaze towards the door. It was solid oak, the handle somewhat ornate and old fashioned but it was a solid a barricade that sent a clear message of "Keep out unless invited." Unfortunately, it was not as if she could just walk away. There was no way he could avoid this. As it was, their leader's intransigence had held up their final ceremony for almost a day a half. They could not delay it much longer even if they wanted to: The families were getting restless, wanting answers, and perhaps more importantly, the bodies of their children for burial. "Three days," said Winky, "we is bringing him food and drink."

"But he drinks more than he eats," said Dobby.

Luna nodded, uneasy at the thought. Harry was a social drinker, but for him to resort to drinking, like this, was new and disturbing, "But I have to see him... we have to see him."

"He is not allowing anyone in unless they is bringing him meals," repeated Winky, almost mournfully, "And he won't let us clean in there!"

Luna's hand rested on the handle, when she paused and turned to the elves, "Do you want to come in with me?" Because she was not the master of either elf, they had no reason to obey her, and both were gone in a flash that was accompanied by a soft, near silent "pop" as they apparated out of the way, "Thanks a lot," growled Luna. Some kind of support would have been nice. She knocked.

The drapes were drawn across the windows. Dark. Quiet. A somewhat unpleasant musty smell, "Harry?" There was no answer. She walked further in, nearly blind in the gloom. Her eyes struggling to adjusted. She slammed into a low table and sent it crashing over.

"Who's there? Who the fuck is there?" There was anger, hatred in the voice. Harry loomed in front of her, unshaven, half dressed, eyes fierce, bloodshot, wand raised at Luna.

"Harry!" she said carefully, "It's me. It's just Luna."

It took him a few long moments to process who was standing before him. With a growl and a muttered curse, he turned and threw the wand on the bed. He was only wearing his boots and pants. His chest and arms were criss-crossed in a roadmap or perhaps patchwork of scars, both small and large. "You woke me for something?" he half growled, half snarled.

"Yes." she said simply, turning on the lights as she did so. The half light illuminated the room. No wonder Winky was near frantic with worry about the state of the room. It looked almost as bad as the aftermath of the Battle for Grimmauld Place. There were plates of food scattered haphazardly, half eaten everywhere, and it looked as if he had gone through most of a case of Firewhiskey. But given the number of empty bottles that littered the floor, the number of cases could be significantly higher. Even as she watched, he raised yet another bottle to his lips.

The bottle zoomed out of his hand, and in to hers, "Think you've had enough, Harry," she said quietly, "You need to get cleaned up. There's a few things that we need to take care of today, at noon."

"What?" he snapped. he reached down, searching amongst the rubbish on the floor. Glass tinkled as empty bottles were knocked over like bowling pins. He finally found what he was looking for. He unscrewed the top of the bottle, and managed a mouthful of the amber liquid before Luna summoned the bottle from him.

"You need a shower, shave, and clean robes. Noon. We honor our fallen. Their families will be here. You have to be there."

He looked at her as if she was a creature that had somehow crawled out of a demonic portal in the middle of the room and proceeded to defecate on the floor, "Tell me something, I don't already know."

"Can't do that," she replied, "But I can tell you something you know that you think nobody else knows." Luna looked him square in the eye, meeting the unforgiving emerald stare, "One braid for Hermione, one for Aimee Delacour Potter." He blinked in surprise as she sat down next to him, and took a sip from the bottle, "You've lost more, than most of us can even dream of losing, and it's not fair. But you're still here. Fight not for those who still live and cower, but fight for those who fight, for those who have fallen. Fight and ensure that they are never forgotten. That's what today is all about." She shrugged, "We can do this without you being there... but you should be. It is your Legion, and it is your Legionnaires who fell in battle."

"So many were under age, Luna. It's one thing if wizards and witches of age lose their lives, but I got a lot of... kids killed."

"You did," she said, softly, "But they didn't wander in blindly to fight. They knew what could happen. They were trained, and they fought, bled, killed and died fighting Darkness. They were children once, but they died as men and women, and above all else, they died as warriors, soldiers of the light. Given what's coming, I think it is a better death than the many possible alternatives."

"So what do I tell the families? The parents? Brothers and sisters? "I'm sorry for your loss," is just not enough."

"Is there anything else that we can say or do?" countered Luna, "It is... coarse... but money has a way of making things better."

"You're suggesting I buy them off?"

She shook her head, "I'm suggesting that funding should be made available to the families, to ensure that they are taken care off. The families, should gain some benefit, for having family who were courageous enough to take a stand, and fight."

He rose to his feet, swaying ever so slightly, "I'll think about it. Now get out so I can take that shower, shave and get cleaned up."

She nodded and slid from his room. He wouldn't need more than half an hour.


	9. Chapter 68 - For The Fallen

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

The "Angriest Man in America" or perhaps America's angriest standup comedian, Denis Leary is paraphrased at length in this chapter. He meant it as comedy, but there is a great deal of truth to his words.

Chapter 68

For The Fallen

For three days, Harry had avoided human contact, wanting to be left alone as he struggled to get himself and his emotions under control. He just needed time to come to terms with what had happened, with what he had orchestrated, and perhaps most damningly of all, would have to orchestrate once again the next time The Legion went in to battle.

When he emerged from his room, he was clean, dressed in black, and made his way down to one of the Manor's two living rooms. His friends tended to congregate there when they weren't doing anything important. Somehow, he was not surprised to find them all there, dressed in black. They made a somber procession as Harry nodded to Luna, "I presume you took charge of the arrangements."

"Number seven, Godric's Hollow," she said, "I've got it all figured out, but you're going to have to lift the Fidilius Charm. What?" He was staring at her as if she'd just grown a second head.

"How the hell do you know..."

"You told me," she said, "Three days ago." He cast his mind back and realized that she was right: He had told her, without meaning to. There was nothing he could do about it: The secret was well and truly out. He was going to have to lift the Fidelius, at least. No. The charm would have to be canceled, otherwise no one would ever be able to visit... "Did the families agree to have their children buried there?"

"No, but they did agree to attend the service." He didn't ask how she had managed to convince them to come, and found himself wondering just how bad a hit his finances had taken to arrange everything on such short notice. He shrugged, in the final count, what was a few hundred thousand, or a few million Pounds and Galleons? He took in the view of the front garden as he contemplated just how bad things were going the past few days. An ancient Greek general by the name of Pyrrhic had said, "Another victory such as this, and we are undone!" Thus the concept of the Pyrrhic Victory was born. That was precisely what the Legion had won. He sighed. His mind ran down his list of allies, and potential allies, and he came to the same conclusion that he, the Council, even Griphook had come to on more than one occasion: As long as the Death Eaters had their effingus, they held the only advantage required to win a war.

It was a wrench to bring himself back to the present and put thoughts of war and strategy from his mind. He realized full well that they were waiting on him. With a nod, they departed via the Travel Room, and emerged from the fireplace in what was perhaps the living room of Godric's Hollow: His parents home, to find Griphook giving orders to his brethren, as the House Elves - all three of them - made a last few finishing touches. A tempus spell revealed it was only 11:54 in the morning. They were marginally early, "Nobody but us can arrive before 12:00," said Ginny, "Felt it best we were here before the others."

"Besides their families, who else is coming?" asked Harry.

"Let's just say that we used a lot of space expansion charms," said Griphook, "The total guest list comes to almost four hundred." The Goblin held copies of both The Quibbler and the Daily Prophet in an outstretched hand. "I believe that you should read these, to better know what to expect."

Both newspapers covered what was being called the "Grimmauld Battle," in exact detail, starting with Harry and his friends visiting his Godfather's home, to the ambush by the Death Eaters, and their eventual defeat. Neville's singlehanded slaughter of Bellatrix Lestrange was second page news in both papers. The pictures however, spoke volumes more than the text, even as phrases leaped out at Harry, highlighting the involvement of the Order of the Phoenix, the Ministry's somewhat belated response.

However what drew and captivated his attention the most was the comments from the readers. They ran the gauntlet as he had expected, and was not surprised to find that many were condemning him for having involved children in such brutal fighting. He had expected as much. But there were a surprising number of supportive opinions, and there were several that touched him momentarily. The parents of two of the fallen had actually spoken out in favor of Harry, despite having lost their twin daughters who had just completed their OWLs. 'The Patils,' he realized. He had drunk and cried himself until he had no more tears left to shed. He turned his attention to the list of names of The Fallen. Working his way down, he found that he could put a face to each name, could recall what year they were supposed to be in, their strengths, and their weaknesses. For a split second he found himself cursing his Occulumency that had trained his mind in to a veritable computer: He could recall everything he read saw or heard with a sometimes depressing ease.

A grandfather clock chimed, and the fireplace flared a bright green as the first of the guests arrived. Harry slipped out into the garden, and found himself impressed by what they had done with the place: The weeds were gone, the grass trimmed back. The fence that normally marked the property boundary was gone. In its place were hedges that reminded him eerily of the walls of the Triwizard Tournament and its damned maze. He saw the low raised dais, and then the portrait stands, each one draped by a heavy white silk cloth. He ran his fingers along it, marveling at the soft, silky smoothness of it. He'd felt something similar only once before in his life. Not once, twice, he had lost it both times due to his own miserable failings as a man. Given the number of people attending, the lack of chairs made perfect sense. But people would probably be in a measure of discomfort, "We've taken measures to ensure everyone remains comfortable." Griphook seemed unperturbed by the fact that Harry had his wand drawn and pointed at him for a moment, "Not that they would notice the charms of course." The Goblins raised an eyebrow, in almost speculative fashion, "Your reflexes are fast for a wizard."

"Not fast enough," replied Harry, raising an eyebrow of his own. Griphook did have the point of his sword resting lightly against Harry's robes that were a deep midnight black. Harry lowered his wand as the Goblin sheathed his blade. The Goblin nodded. "Maybe someday, I'll be fast enough." The Goblin snorted and disappeared in to the background. 'One day, I'm going to get him to tell me how he ghosts me like that,' thought Harry.

He disappeared back into the house, and went upstairs. The Goblins had worked something akin to a minor miracle to reinforce and repair the building in time for the occasion. He only hoped that the space expansion charms were not permanent. He suddenly realized that he didn't actually have a speech prepared. This was one that he was not prepared to just make up off the cuff. It was Ginny that knocked on the door and slipped inside the room, "Guests are gathered, and waiting."

She handed him a roll of parchment, "You're going to need this." He scanned the words written across the page, committing them to memory with ease, but even as he absorbed the words, he found himself making slight, subtle alterations to what was written - it was his speech after all. He could find no fault with the day's plan; especially with the security precautions involved. He crumpled the parchment, stuffing it in his pocket. He descended the stairs, ignoring everything but the front door of his parents' house as he stepped out into the garden.

He froze, staring at the ocean of faces, expectantly watching eyes that seemed to dare him to take another step forward. He could read a myriad of emotions from those he expected, including sadness and grief, to perfectly justifiable anger, even hatred. He was not sure that there were words in the entire world that could calm the hatred. But it was the second half of that ocean gave him strength to step forward to face his accusers: His Legion watched, and waited, and he knew that they would judge him when there was something to judge.

He took his place, and stared at all the faces, took a breath to steady his nerves, and nodded to Griphook standing in the wings. He felt a tightening of the skin across his forehead, and nodded in satisfaction. The area had been heavily warded and was now as fully protected as it could possibly be made. The last thing anyone wanted was a disturbance during this occasion.

There was a raised dais, but no lectern, which suited him fine. He wasn't about to hide behind anything. He had nothing to hide. "Ladies, Gentlemen, and of course, Legionnaires..." All eyes in the room were suddenly fixed upon him, and it was a near overpowering experience and he faltered for a moment.

"We are gathered here today to honor those who gave everything and more, than we would, could have asked in defense of the Light, of our way of life. We honor today, men, women, children from all backgrounds and walks of life, who banded together to fight against those who would destroy not only us, but the wizarding world at large."

His wand appeared in his hand, and he pointed it towards the seventeen covered portraits that were arranged in tiered rows of ten to his left. The silk coverings vanished, to reveal portraits of The Fallen. "There are words that are normally spoken at such occasions, something along the lines of "I am sorry for your loss." He looked across the audience, "Those words, are tragically not, and will never be, enough."

"There are nearly four hundred of us, gathered here today, to pay our respects to fallen heroes, to whom we owe a debt that we can never repay. But we can, and we must," he emphasized, "Honor their sacrifice."

A number of people in the audience already on the verge of tears, seemed to crack and break down, sobbing quietly. Others simply cried in silence. The atmosphere of sadness, despair, and grief would have been a buffet for the Dementors. "The grief that all of us share today is one and the same: We have all lost loved ones to what is, will be, and must be remembered as the first battle of the Second Wizarding War."

He gestured to the portraits beside him that showed each of the fallen at their finest, "This day is about these men and women that you love. It is perhaps the most solemn of my responsibilities, and perhaps my highest honor to have known, commanded, fought and bled alongside such warriors." He met the gazes of everyone in the audience, somehow all at the very same time, "It is an honor, and a burden," he whispered, "That has brought us here together, on this day."

"They knew, they understood, and perhaps most importantly of all, they accepted the most solemn of burdens and responsibilities, and have discharged their duties, proving their honor, their courage and loyalty. Not to the Legion, but to the Light. While today we are gathered to honor seventeen, we must not forget, that there are many more who have come before us, and perhaps most importantly, that there will be many more who come after us."

"There are those who gave their lives fighting Grindenwald. Then there are those who faced and fought the Death Eaters some fifteen years ago. Without their sacrifice, without their victories upon nearly forgotten battlefields, we would not be here today."With a gentle flick of his wand, the first of the portraits fluttered forward on its stand, lightly as if born upon the wings of an angel. "This is what binds us together, across the generations. They have all fought, and they have all given more than anyone has the right to ask. They gave until they had nothing more to give."

"We owe a debt to each and every fallen warrior that we can never truly repay. We must honor their sacrifice, and honor it by keeping their memory close to our hearts, for as long as we live. After all, when our time comes, whether by blade, spell or bare hand, whether by old age, sickness, or in some accident, we would want others to remember and honor us.

We honor and remember all who fall in this first battle, as we will honor and remember all who stand and fight. We honor the memory of the fallen by living our lives to the fullest, by never surrendering to tyranny. By never abandoning those who stand beside us, who have come before us, and who will come after us. We must honor and remember why they died."

His voice was soft. No shouts of defiance, not a call to arms, nothing more than a quiet request. His voice was like Phoenix Song, in the simplicity of its sorrow. There was not a set of dry eyes in the audience. "All who are honored today deserves to have their lives, their stories known to us all." His gaze lingered on a witch and wizard sitting in the front row, "We begin, with Nadine Addams, Graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Class of 1996. I would ask her mother and father to tell us, about their daughter."

The memorial for the fallen would continue well in to the afternoon, almost until the evening. True to Griphook's word, none of the guests complained about having to stand for so long. Then sun had nearly set before the last of the fallen were spoken for. For what he hoped would be the last time, Harry took to the podium, "Our fallen," he said, "Family, friends, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters, sweet hearts, boyfriends and girlfriends, husbands and wives must never be forgotten for giving everything." His wand in hand, he turned to the portraits. The portrait frames were solid gold, and it took Harry many long minutes to execute the transfiguration, but when the glow faded, the pictures remained, set into flawless marble headstones.

Upon each, the words "duty", "courage", "loyalty", and "honor" were emblazoned to form the frame surrounding the picture of the fallen in intricate gold calligraphy. Their names were engraved in full, along with the dates of their birth and death. The seventeen stones vanished, the gardens having been prepared in advance to accommodate the newcomers. Twenty-one head stones now stood in the garden of No. 7, Godric's Hollow. "There are so many names out there," Harry said, "And I know some of you are wondering why you should continue the fight, or even join the fight. I'll give you a reason."

The Legion Councilors blinked. Ginny balked: this was definitely not a part of what they had prepared for Harry's speech, "Many of you will one day have children. It is for them that we fight. I want the children to grow up in a world where they are free of darkness, of bigotry, of misguided beliefs. I want your children to be able to live without fear of a name. I want your children growing up happy."

"Harry," whispered Neville, "For the love of Merlin, don't." They were all thinking the same thing: Was he actually going to share his own personal tragedies with the rest of the world?

There were a number of confused expressions in the audience, and no surprise, given that these were mostly teenagers, "I know it's a lot to take in, but one day, most, if not all of you are going to look down in a crib, or you're going to be holding your son or daughter in your arms and it will hit you. Not right away perhaps, but it will hit you that the most important thing that you will do in your life, is raise that child. Your child will be like a blank slate, an empty vessel that you can fill with whatever you want: Hate, bigotry, tolerance, compassion, love. You will shape that child into an adult and perhaps one day, your son or daughter will turn to you and say, something like, "You know mom, I like it here" or "Hey dad, I really like living here."" He smiled, "He won't mean his house or the neighborhood, or Hogwarts, Diagon Alley or even Gringotts. He will mean, here, as it Britain, as in this planet. That's when you will be able to look them in the eye, and honestly tell them, "Well, I did the best I could." Seventeen people gave up everything, including that right, so that the rest of us would have the chance, just the chance to banish the tide that threatens to drown us in Darkness." There was a fire blazing in his eyes, "I will not squander the chance." It was an open declaration of his intent, but more than that, it was a challenge to all of them.

"All of you, present here today, will always be welcome here. Just remember that this is a place of honor, of respect to the fallen. They gave everything, and then gave their lives without hesitation. It is a burden of honor and their names, their actions, and their deeds will be forever engraved in my memory. Thank you."

He did not wait for their applause or their condemnation. He cared for neither. He had spent more than enough time crawling around the bottom of a bottle of Firewhiskey. He needed to take the fight to the Death Eaters and land a hammer blow that would make everyone reevaluate the fight that they had on their hands. The fact that taking the fight to the Death Eaters would almost certainly mean another memorial had crossed his mind, but he was committed, and nothing was going to dissuade him from this particular course of action.

The solution was a simple and elegant one: The trial of one Lucius Malfoy was a few months away, and there were seven witnesses to the events of the Department of Mysteries, and he hoped that the testimony of six of those seven witnesses would be enough. He wasn't sure he could stand being in the same room as Fleur. Not now, not ever. He pulled himself back to the moment. He needed to get Malfoy to trial, and that was, unfortunately going to mean getting involved with the Ministerial Politics. Upon consideration, he concluded that he would certainly go toe to toe with Fleur Delacour over the Ministry - but then, the Ministry could do more for him than dredge up a lot of pain that he would rather not revisit. He doubted his Occulumency would be powerful enough to hold back what could be an overwhelming tide of emotion.

The entire thought process had taken only the few minutes between Godric's Hollow and Potter Manor and he absentmindedly stepped out of the Floo and without breaking his stride, made his way to his office. He had a number of letters to pen in the next few hours.

In Godric's Hollow, the guests had not stayed long, given the overly serious mood that Harry's words had imparted upon the crowd. Those that stayed however, were the families of those who had fought, and the close friends of the fallen. "Misery loves company," thought Neville darkly as he idly fiddled with his glass of pumpkin juice.

"Knut for your thoughts?"

"My thoughts... they're worth so little?" he countered with a smile.

Luna shrugged, "Well... perhaps a sickle instead of a knut."

"My thoughts..." he shrugged, "They're probably worth a knut: I'm just wondering if it's worth all this. So many dead, so many lives destroyed. Hogwarts is going to be a smaller school this year... And you know as well as I do that these effingus things means that every fight we win, is a fight we lose."

"Well, given what we now know about the effingus," she said, "We've got a fighting chance against them."

"Yeah, but the problem is figuring out which one is the original from amongst the dozens, if not hundreds of fucking Death Eaters." He said bitterly, "I mean, we've taken out one original Death Eater..."

"Credit where credit's due," scolded Ginny, "You killed Bellatrix Lestrange. And it's because of that, that we know the weakness of these effingus: If the original dies, then the... copies die. It's a start Neville."

"We just need to keep killing them," said Colin, "Even these things will learn to fear us if we keep on killing them." Luna held her peace, knowing that there was little she could do to sway her boyfriend's bloodlust when it came to the topic of killing Death Eaters. She could not fault him for it: she shared some of his view where Death Eaters were concerned.

They had no doubt that there were parents who would pull their children out of Hogwarts, partly to escape Britain, and no doubt partly to escape Harry Potter's influence. There was proving to be too much truth in the adage, "Accusations can be disproved, but suspicions, doubts, and mistrust will linger forever." While the Legion and Harry had fought and built a measure of credibility, it was just a first step. More than one parent had swallowed every word spouted by the pre-reform Daily Prophet, and despite the changes remained unconvinced in spite of everything they had seen.

Harry however, had a plan. The problem was that it was one he well and truly despised.


	10. Chapter 69 - Fudge and Dark Skies

A/N:

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 69

Fudge and Dark Skies

The days in the aftermath of the Battle of Grimmauld Place were quiet enough. The Death Eaters were hopefully reeling from their defeat, and the loss of Bellatrix Lestrange, who had been one of Voldemort's Inner Circle, and top lieutenants. The accurate coverage in both The Quibbler and the Daily Prophet had silenced the rumor mill and gossip mongrels. There was no coverage of the memorial service – at least directly – and Harry had ordered a near ruthless press black out on the subject: Neither publication carried word of the event, and as far as Harry was concerned they never would, "It's a private affair, and the last thing any the Fallen deserve is to have their memories trampled on, or the grieving families to be subjected to crap." There was, quite simply no changing his mind on the subject, especially since they privately agreed.

For the moment, he had no doubt that the Death Eaters would first want to lick their wounds, before going ahead with any other militaristic actions. That presented a narrow window of opportunity for Harry to capitalize upon. It had taken him almost a day to compose the letter that required a great deal more political finesse than he was used to, and had taken almost two dozen attempts and suggestions from everyone to come up with what they could agree upon as the "perfect balance" between demanding and requesting the meeting in question.

When Harry had whistled for Hedwig, she swooped in and landed lightly on his shoulder. She cooed softly in his ear, "I miss them too," he whispered, "How's Crookshanks?" If owls could snort in derision, the sound would have spoken volumes. As it was, the head shake and eye rolling made clear that Crookshanks was having far too much fun, living it up in the lap of luxury, "I'll reconsider your proposal for a feline treadmill?" said Harry playfully.

The only response was a baleful glare from across the office, accompanied by the thumping of a tail against the sofa cushions. Harry had no doubt it was a bark of laughter that escaped his owl familiar, "Get out of here before you get me in more trouble!" he said with a laugh.

She nipped his ear affectionately and with a flap of her wings, she was gone. The response was unsurprisingly, not long in coming. The Minister of Magic had actually penned, signed and sealed the response himself:

"_Greetings Mr. Potter._

_On behalf of the Ministry of Magic I would be delighted to meet so that we can clear the air between us. I find your choice of meeting place and the time to be acceptable. I look forward to seeing you this Saturday at Noon. My only request is that we keep the number of people involved to the bare minimum. I understand that you have retained legal counsel in the form of Ms. Marinashka of Gringotts, and she is more than welcome to attend our discussion._

_Thank you for your time and attention,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Cornelius Oswald Fudge_

_Minister of Magic."_

It was gratifying that the Minister had accepted his terms, especially since Gringotts was anything but neutral where Harry was concerned. Besides, given recent events, he had doubts that this particular meeting could take place anywhere safely. There was simply no telling just how widespread Death Eater infiltration was. Given what his various sources had successfully pieced together, the conservative estimate was about half the Ministry.

They had been in the midst of a training match when Dobby appeared with the Minister's missive, "He's agreed." said Harry quietly.

"Harry, you're sure about this?" asked Neville, "It's something we've discussed and thrown about but now... well..."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, "I don't know if peace is something that I want. It's what I need. I can't continue to fight Voldemort, Dumbledore and the Ministry. After what's happened, I can't ever trust Dumbledore. It has to be the Ministry, and that means Fudge." Trusting Voldemort was never going to be an option. But then, most of them had their doubts about trusting the Ministry given the events of the past two years. The question was not whether the Minister and Harry could bury the hatchet, but whether one would bury said hatchet in the other's back.

However, Ginny was sure that whatever he was asking for, it would be for others. No doubt Sirius would factor in somewhere, as would probably the werewolves and vampires. "You're going to make a deal with him aren't you?" she asked.

"I'll hear him out at least," admitted Harry, "But if I like what he has to say, then I don't see why I shouldn't make a deal. Marinashka will be there, and our memories would be more than sufficient evidence at any trial or if he should go back on his word." He glanced round at his friends, "I'm guessing that none of you want me to deal?"

"Don't ally with him or deal with him because he is the lesser, or rather least of three evils," said Neville, "Voldemort," Neville laughed darkly, "Dumbledore and Fudge.. which is worse?"

"The fifty million Galleon question," agreed Harry, "I trusted Dumbledore above and beyond all others, for so long. I took my life into my own hands, and he tried… he succeeded to a large degree, in fucking up my life, making it hell from the day I was dropped on the Dursley's doorstep. That's what makes the two different: Fudge at least has fucked me over, but done it publicly and to my face – he's got that much in common with Voldemort if nothing else – and he's looking at political survival: I can help him get that, if I get what I want."

"Better the devil you know…" mused Gred,

"Than the devil you don't," replied Feorge.

The twins were of the opinion that Fudge was on the level, and they raised the possibility of Percy being behind the whole thing – that particular young man's intelligence had never been in doubt, just his common sense. Moreover, since Percy still held his position with Fudge, he must be doing something right beyond being a bootlicking yes man.

No. It could not hurt to hear the Minister out, especially if a lasting agreement of some sort could be brokered. Harry studied the frozen battlefield before him, including the half dozen equally motionless Death Eaters, "Aln, please reset scenario seventeen." Scenario 17 had them fighting through the halls of Azkaban itself, in what was essentially a jail-break gone badly wrong. It took only a few moments as the entire scene shifted and changed. Within a minute, the six were standing outside Azkaban, ready to break in. It was simply amazing what sufficient Galleons could buy, "Let's do this again… and I'll try not to trip the alarm charms again," he added.

Harry stepped from the flames, and scanned his surroundings cautiously. Even though there were few places as safe and secure as Gringotts, he found himself wondering where the Aurors would be hiding. Just to ram the point home with Percy, Harry had brought Ginny along. The twins had declined, given that their presence would make the meeting far more awkward than it would have to be, especially since Percy's estrangement was almost absolute. There was also the fact that having Ginny around would keep Harry grounded, and prevent the possibility of Harry giving away the proverbial farm.

They walked into Gringotts and were immediately greeted by Griphook, who lead them towards a private meeting room. Somehow, they were not surprised to find both Minister Fudge and Percy sitting down at a table quietly talking. Fudge was on his feet and stretched his hand out to Harry within moments. "Mr. Potter, Ginner... Ginny, Marinashka. A pleasure to see you all."

Harry nodded coldly, ignoring the outstretched hand of the minister, "Minister, thank you for agreeing to meet us," he looked passed the minister and stared at Percy, with an equally cold expression, "Percy."

"That's Mr. Weasley to you, Potter," he snapped. Indeed, Percy did not look thrilled to see either of them. Harry and the Minister however did not miss the dark looks that passed between the estranged siblings.

"Certainly Percy," replied Harry, "Shall we?"

Having taken their seats, Marinashka strolled through the door, and without comment took the seat to Harry's left. The next fifteen minutes were spent lost in idle chit chat, polite inquiries about work, schoolwork, family life and so forth, to Harry's complete and utter irritation. The only thing that kept him from snapping was Ginny's vice like grip upon his hand. Harry was now truly and utterly convinced that the Minister was not under an Imperius Curse, because there was nothing between his ears for the curse to take over – even magic has its limits. How in the world the Minister could miss that Harry was not interested in "friendly" was beyond him.

"Mr. Potter, I believe that we should get the most obvious out of the way. Firstly, I owe you an apology, for what transpired last year, with regards to what was printed in the Daily Prophet, and for what happened with Umbridge last year. I trusted her, far more than I should have, and… we all know the results of her reign of tyranny. And the Dementors she sent to Little Whinging," Fudge could only shake his head, "I have had her removed from office, reprimanded, sanctioned and demoted. I want her where I can keep an eye on her, not roaming around. I am sorry."

Harry nodded. That was a start at least, and said as much, "Apology accepted Minister Fudge." The minister breathed a little easier for a few moments, "When are the trials of the Death Eaters captured at the Ministry going to take place?"

"The first Monday in November I believe is the time…..what was the date exactly Percy?"

"Monday 4th of November, sir."

"Yes, that's it. Lucius Malfoy will go first, then the others in succession. Since he is their leader, once we have convicted him, the others will be convicted in short order. I have no doubt your testimony alone will put them in Azkaban for life."

"My testimony," mused Harry, "Is there any reason I should give it? Considering that Death Eaters seem to take stays in Azkaban as a holiday from Voldemort and his Crucio, I'd be better off letting the gue'la shar-zkha go free and let natural justice take its course."

Harry wondered if Fudge would bring up the topic of his godfather or not, and found himself disappointed that the theories of the minister attending this meeting had anything to do with Percy's persuasion - especially if the surly, silent young man's behavior was anything to go by. But the minister was not willing to go there just yet, "I understand that you are having some… difficulties with regards to Dumbledore?"

Harry eyes narrowed and even Ginny's gaze hardened slightly. Marinashka made her first foray in the conversation, carefully, "He is a powerful wizard with a powerful presence as his tenure as the Headmaster of Hogwarts means that he has touched the lives of virtually every witch and wizard in Britain over the past few decades."

The Minister nodded, and Marinashka pounced, "You have someone inside the Order of the Phoenix, do you not?" Percy's eyes went wide, and the minister looked particularly impressed.

"Yes I do."

"I don't need to know who," replied Harry. It appeared that the two men had reached something of an accord at that particular moment, "It is certainly a wise move to keep an eye on whatever Dumbledore and the Order get up to." Harry glanced discretely at his watch. He had spent more than enough time, wasted more than enough time. It was time to cut to the heart of the matter. "Minister, while I believe we have cleared the lingering ill will between us, I have other matters to attend to. What do you want?"

"What do I want?" He laughed, "What I want is Voldemort killed. He's tried to kill you so many times, and frankly, there have been rumors that you were offered a place at his side."

Harry rested his eyes against the palms of his hands, unsurprised that word of that offer had leaked out, "Five years ago, when I battled him for the Philosopher's Stone, he did offer the resurrection of my parents in exchange for my loyalty, and the stone." Harry simply could not process that Voldemort expected him to switch sides. He shook his head, trying to still his anger and rage, "You know what happened to Hermione," he whispered, dangerously quiet, "You think I would join him after what he did to her that night? Put yourself in my accursed position: Would you join him?"

Percy looked affronted at that question, but to his credit, Fudge didn't bat an eye, "A valid question." The minister pulled the sleeves of his robes up past his elbows, "The answer is no."

Harry did not hesitate, gently slipping a legilimency probe in to the Minister's mind. He did not have to look very hard to find that he was telling the truth on that score at least, "So then, what do you want?"

"What I would like from you, is a show of public support to the Minister, perhaps share information from our different sources but I want us to work together to take the fight to Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

"Fine words," Harry replied, "But to, ensure my cooperation, I have a number of requests."

"You are not requesting," snapped Percy, "You're making demands! This is not some, some muggle flea market where you can buy and sell! The Minister of Magic has requested your assistance and as wizard of Britain, you should assist for that reason if nothing else!"

Percy suddenly found himself on the receiving end of the very withering and pointed glares from the other four people at the table and he wisely subsided as Harry continued, "Consider these requests as compensation for what your office, your ministry has done to me over the past few years. We will start with Sirius Black. Friend of my parents who was never their secret keeper. I want him cleared of all charges, and pardoned posthumously. You can say that a large amount of circumstantial evidence has emerged that exonerates him. A reward should be announced for the capture of Peter Pettigrew, dead or alive. You do that in a press conference, and I will make a generally positive statement, and provided we can continue to work together beyond this occasion, I will be available for comment at a slightly later date."

It would be a small matter, though it would probably take several weeks to spin the story to the satisfaction of both parties but he agreed. In essence, if Harry believed, then everyone else would quickly fall in line over what to believe. "Secondly, I want the anti-werewolf legislation on the books revised or repealed. Werewolves are dangerous but those with access to the Wolfsbane Potion should be allowed to hold jobs. I also want word of a Wolfsbane trust to be spread. The Goblins of Gringotts," he nodded pointedly to Marinashka, "have agreed to administer the trust. The Ministry only has to agree with the idea."

The minister nodded thoughtfully. That he could do, but it would take some time to gather the required votes, though he was confident he could convince Dumbledore to support such a move. "This will be difficult as it requires a two thirds majority to repeal or revise any law already in effect. In this matter, I am confident that Dumbledore will vote with me, and thus with you, but this might have to be postponed until after the trials of the Death Eaters in November."

"Done," said Harry, "The next few items should be pretty simple," Marinashka passed over a list of names, "I want signed Apparation licenses, and authorization for these individuals to use Avada Kedevra. The second list: Every name is to be granted full wand rights."

The minister stared at the first list, "The Apparation licenses can be owled to you before days' end. Avada Kedevra," for the first time, the minister hesitated, the wheels churning in his mind, "I will authorize this, personally, but only for these seven names. No more." Harry nodded, "But this list of names... these are all Hogwart students Harry. I do not think..."

"Battle of Grimmauld," Harry said, "Let's not pretend that you don't have Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries trying to chase the magical signatures. Heck," said Harry, taking a somewhat perverse pleasure in the fact that Percy flinched at his choice of words, "I'm pretty sure you know everyone involved in the battle. But you have not moved against them: I would know if they had received owls, similar to the one I received about two years ago."

"I target them and you would bring the full force of your legal team down upon the Ministry, and the axe blow would fall upon my head. I would not survive the vote of no confidence. There's no telling who they would put in office to replace me. It could be Madame Bones, Thicknesse or even you."

He laughed. Minister of Magic? Him? Not bloody likely. "Perhaps we can come to a compromise that will satisfy us both?"

"Is there anything else that you want?" countered the minister.

"Just one final thing," admitted Harry, "and its plenty easy. I want the next available promotion to go to Arthur Weaseley. If he refuses it, then he gets a pay rise equivalent to said promotion. His family - for the most part - deserves this at least."

Upon later reflection, Ginny would realize that none of Harry's requests of the Minister, or the ministry for that matter had gained him anything at all: He had protected his friends, cared for the well being of her family, and ensured that none of the Legion need fear a notice regarding the misuse of magic.

"A number of our department heads are fast approaching retirement age; I will have a discussion with Mr. Weasely when the time is appropriate." Harry nodded his agreement. The last thing he wanted was for someone to get fired, "However your request," the minister tapped the parchment on the table, "Two hundred is a lot of names. A compromise: I will approve those students in their sixth or seventh years. The others will gain their wand rights once they have completed their OWLs, or turn fifteen, whichever comes first."

He ran the numbers in his head. That left him with just over half the Legion's immediate strength for any... unsanctioned field trips, and the rest to support and defend Hogwarts. "Acceptable," said Harry at last, "All apologies accepted in exchange, and I will want those licenses and waivers by the end of today, the announcement of Sirius Black's exoneration before the 1st of September. The trial of the Death Eaters is going ahead and I will be there as a witness. After those trials are concluded, the Wolfsbane Trust is to be announced. In exchange, I will support and cooperate in the war against Voldemort, starting at the press conference, and at the trial of Lucius Malfoy and the others who were captured." He stood and extended his hand to the minister who shook it, wearing a massive smile that threatened to crack his face in half.

"I hope that we have reached a turning point in this war," said the Minister cordially.

"We have," agreed Harry as he tightened his grip on the minister's hand, "But I give you fair warning: Minister or not, treachery will be met, and dealt with, harshly."

The minister blinked and a flash of fear crossed his face, but he mastered himself even if Percy looked like he was about to call in Hit Wizards. All Harry got was a firm nod, acknowledging the point, "I will inform you as soon as the press conference for Black is arranged and Thicknesse will contact you regarding the pardon papers, which will be sent to you. Good day, Mr. Potter."

"Minister."

The press conference announcing the pardon of Sirius Black took place at the Ministry of Magic in the third week of August, and the Ministry did an excellent job of spinning the decision based upon an article which had appeared in The Quibbler nearly a year and a half ago, which had started the investigation. Flanked by Harry and Percy, Dumbledore stood off to one side and was only there in body, as the Legion Counsel stood of the other side of the same stage. Minister Fudge spent a good fifteen minutes explaining the background and filling in the history and frankly admitted that he had agreed with the decision to sentence Black without a trial. Harry himself had a few words to say about Sirius, their relationship, his parents and the betrayal that they had suffered at the hands of Peter Pettigrew. One reporter had questioned how the relationship was between Harry and the Ministry. Harry had said there had been bumps in the road, but that they were on the same side in the war against Voldemort. The media swallowed it whole.

Of course, Dumbledore was more than a little put out when he had been literally summoned and told to attend while keeping his mouth shut. What frustrated him the most was that he had been pressuring Fudge for two years to do something, and while it was no secret that Fudge and Harry had met, it amazed him that once Harry had asked, Fudge had written the pardon and the wanted notice for Peter Pettigrew at record speed. Dumbledore found himself wishing for the opportunity to have a chat with a Veritaserum intoxicated Harry Potter to figure that out, more so given the history between Fudge and Harry.

Remus Lupin, last of the Marauders simply could not believe that this day had come, especially without the capture of Peter Pettigrew. Harry had ensured that if all else went to hell, he could die a happy man, knowing that his friend's honor had been restored. Harry's choice was the right one, and he had taken steps to ensure that his family were all protected, no matter what happened. His mind flashed over the preparations that Harry had made for all of them, should the worst happen, but banished the thought to the recesses of his mind. Now was not the time for that.

Tonks and Mad Eye were, of course, more than a little impressed, and a touch concerned with the deal made, but then both knew that while Harry listened to, and would at the very least hear and consider what they had to say, he was ultimately his own man, and would make his own decisions. They also knew that Harry Potter being Harry Potter, he would stand by his choices, personal cost be damned.

The entire press conference lasted a little less than an hour, and Harry made clear that he was not going to be answering any questions. That suited both men quite well: Harry managed to stay out of the limelight, and Fudge got all of it and he fielded the questions asked with a practiced ease. But given there were no real hardball questions, Fudge truly held court with ease before the conference closed. Harry of course, had interviews to give to both The Quibbler, and the Daily Prophet.

Beyond London however, events were in motion, the Death Eaters had regrouped, and strengthened their number as far as possible. They had lost the Battle of Grimmauld Place with what were essentially minimal casualties. However, Voldemort was far from defeated: The city of Newcastle upon Tyne, commonly known as Newcastle in North East England was historically a part of Northumberland on the north bank of the river Tyne has a rich history dating back to the time of the Roman Empire. As one of the top twenty cities in terms of population, "Geordie" as the locals refer to it has a reputation for having an interesting and varied nightlife. Tonight however, that nightlife served a darker, and far more malevolent purpose:

The offices had let out for the day, the store owners were open later to cater to the tourists who had flocked to the quay side in what seemed like record numbers. The forecast had called for a beautiful sunny summer day. Coupled with the fresh breeze coming off the river, it was simply packed during the day, and the crowd swelled in anticipation of a good time with friends out for drinks, or dinner with family.

Those of non-magical blood could not see them, but more than one person had seen the cloud bank, darker than night itself, blotting out the star filled sky, that rolled in upon the quayside. None of them could miss the sudden, sharp drop in temperature that had their breath fogging before their eyes. For the few magicals in the immediate area included the fifth year Hufflepuff Simon Townsend and several others. They could see what the fast approaching cloud of darkness truly was, "Mom! Dad! Get inside!" he shouted as he ran in to his father's pub, "Shut the door and windows! NOW!"

"What's going on?"

Knowing he was about to violate Merlin alone knew how many different statues of law including the Decree for Underaged Wizardry as well as the international statute of secrecy, not to mention the Legion's own unwritten rules, he drew his wand, earning a number of bemused expression and outright laughter from a number of patron. "Protectus Totalus!"

The laughter stopped as the windows and doors glowed blue for a moment and then slammed themselves shut, latches and locks turning. He tapped the silver ring upon his forefinger, and focused his thoughts, sending out a message that he hoped would reach the Legion, "Dementors are coming," he said quietly to his amazed parents, who had never seen the magic their son wielded.

His father peered through the window shutters, "I can't see a thing, Colin. Stop joshing about!"

"You can't see them because you're not magical!" he grabbed the phone and dialed a number, only to curse in frustration: Dementors are magical creatures and such a concentration of them would make any form of even moderately advanced technology worthless.

Alexander Townsend and everyone else may not have been able to see Dementors but they could certainly hear something trying to break through the barred door and shuttered windows. He could see their effects on everyone around him, feel it draining the happiness, the life, the will to resist right out of him. "Expecto... expecto patronum!" Nothing. He cursed, focusing his thoughts. He thought back upon his life, searching for that happy memory and it came to him, he felt it within, the love, the kindness, the acceptance of his parents when they had received the letter, of professor McGonagall's visit some six years before. How so much that had been "strange" had been explained. "Expecto patronum!" he roared.

From his wand a large shape erupted, the silver mist quickly taking shape. It seemed to growl as it reared up on to its hind legs, the ten foot tall Grizzly Bear seemed to slap its front paws together, in eager anticipation of the coming fight.

The doors finally gave way beneath the incessant clawing and pounding and the bear charged head on into the horde of Dementors. He breathed a sigh of relief as they scattered. They had bought a few minutes - he hoped.

A scream.

He turned. A woman was hanging in mid air the skin of her arms turning pale as some unforeseen force held her off the floor. His patronus was far too busy guarding the front of the pub. This one had slipped in somehow: The broken window in the kitchen. He took aim, "Perspicuus Lancea!"

It was easily the most powerful, targetable spell that the young man had in his repertoire of spells, and he spared no effort, as the beam of white luminescence punched a hole through its chest and up through its cowl.

Under the flare of magic, perhaps the young woman caught a brief glimpse of a nightmare brought to life, one that stole her voice just as the Dementor wanted her soul was forced to release her. He took two steps forward, shaking slightly, wand raised, "Back off!" he shouted.

The Dementor paused, as if sizing him up for a moment and then hovered forward, reaching out with its decaying, skeletal hands.

"Expecto patronum!" A silver falcon soared past him, and slashed at the Dementor's face with ethereal claws. It broke off and fled back the way it had come. Simon sagged in relief as a half dozen witches and wizards stormed forward, lead by a shocking pink haired witch, "Aurors! All offensive! Take my target!"

She marked a Dementor with a simple color charm and five voices chorused, "Iuogolo patronum!" Despite the stupidity, governmental incompetence, back stabbing, double dealing reputation of the Ministry, it was part of the legacy of Amelia Bones that Aurors knew how to kill Dementors. After all, one does not simply employ a race of damned, demonic lost souls without having some way to kill them.

She tagged another one, "Nice job kid! Any one hurt?" a flurry of spell fire saw the creature explode, its dark robes pierced by five spells were all that remained, fluttering to the ground where it decayed, leaving a charred stain upon the road. Smoke rose as the tar began to bubble.

"None," he replied, "but if you've got some chocolate..."

She handed him a bar and paused when she saw the ring on his finger, "Legion?" she whispered.

"Forever against the Darkness," he said, eyes widening in surprise.

She quickly stripped off a glove, revealing the same silver ring on her on middle finger, "Ready for when war is waged," she replied, "Name?"

"Simon, Townsond. What's it like out there?" he asked quietly.

"Tonks," she replied, "It's dead bodies from here to breakfast. Hundred plus Dementors... the muggles, they never stood a chance."

Tonks turned to the gathered muggles, cowering at the back of the pub, behind the counter, "Listen to me very carefully," she said, "You all stay close to the six... seven of us," her wave encompassed Simon, "You wander off, you will die, and I will not risk everyone's life to save one. Am I clear?" there were silent, fearful nods all round, "Stick with us, stay alive!" she turned to her aurors, "Defensive circle and keep your patronus ready. " she nodded to Simon, "Stay close to me."

He nodded, "Where we heading?"

"Ministry evacuation point, about three blocks away."

Nobody questioned the men and women in snug fitting body armor waving wooden sticks that directing them to safety inside what was essentially cordoned off crossroads. Simon saw the Aurors maintaining a perimeter of Patroni to keep the Dementors at bay. It wasn't going to be enough, he quickly realized: The Aurors had killed perhaps a dozen, that still left more than eighty of them and if he could tell... "They're preparing to attack."

Tonks nodded tightly, taking aim and unleashing a silvery beam that seemed to carve a Dementor in half, "And we can't hold them off," she replied looking around at the dozens of bodies, interspersed with those of fallen aurors, lying with open sightless eyes: The bodies were alive, but their minds had clearly been ripped away, leaving ruined husks.

It was clear that the Dementors had come to the conclusion that they could not breach the Patronus filled perimeter and swept away. She frowned at that but focused her attention on evacuating the muggles: Each one that made it in was slapped with a something that was the size of a post it note and promptly vanished: The Department of Mysteries was awaiting their arrival where they would be processed: Given a medical check, treated for any wounds, subjected to a little memory modification and returned to their homes.

Simon however, had no intention of going anywhere. His parents were safe, that was all that mattered. The air turned cold, "Iogulus Patronum!" Where the Aurors had produced focused beams of silvery lasers, his was more of a diffused spread, like water spouting from a broken fire hydrant. But it would do, forcing the creature to break off its attack.

"Iogulus Patronum!" six beams lanced out from the crowd of Aurors. The Dementor exploded in a shower of black greasy ash.

Simon felt the ring on his finger grow warm and scanned the message: Legion reinforcements, and they were coming in all from all over the place: The Dementors would cut them down, he realized. He focused his magic, and fired a cerulean beam of energy in to the sky. It exploded outwards, taking shape: A phoenix, clutching an Axe in one claw, a wand in the other, marked his position, and that of the Aurors.

Instantly, there were multiple snap cracks as Legionnaires apparated to his side, and he breathed a sigh of relief: The Core group were the first to arrive.

Harry paused a moment to study the emblem floating in the sky, "Nice," he said, "Who's work is that?"

"Mine, sir!" replied Simon, stepping forward.

"Drop the sir crap," said Harry, "You know my name, use it, Simon." The wizard nodded in awe at the fact that Harry knew his name, "Dementor attack?" There was another string of snap cracks as more Legionniares joined their ranks.

"Hundred or more, I... we've been evacuating the muggles," Harry looked round and said nothing as the Auror let their perimeter of silvery white animals fade away. Maintaining a patronus takes magic, energy and focus. Better to summon them again than be too weak to maintain them. The sweep of his gaze took in the staring gazes of the muggles and magicals, their unseeing eyes, faces frozen in a rictus of terror. So many dead... and many, many more who would be better off dead. He shook his head, knowing there was nothing he could have done for them.

"Incoming!" screamed someone. The sky darkened as the Dementors, clustered together swept down towards them, a mob of terrified muggles just ahead of them. A quick count made clear that only forty Legionnaires had responded to this particular summons. Harry somehow, was not surprised: Many of the Legion could not even get the silvery mist of a Patronus.

There are two types of enemy to be utterly cautious and careful when fighting. The first is that which is completely and utterly methodical, with a strong command structure that can receive orders, and ensure they are carried out no matter what the cost. The second are the utterly bestial and barbaric that knows neither fear nor pain and would stop at nothing to achieve victory. The Dementors, were embodying the strengths of both: Eighty plus dementors in their trademark tattered black robes closed the distance, herding the muggles who were running for their liv... "Tonks!" Harry yelled, "They're using the muggles as a stampede! They'll overrun us and the Dementors finish us! "

She hesitated, staring down the street. At least a hundred, perhaps two hundred muggles, against their paltry sixty or so: They wouldn't be able to cast enough stunners, or erect wards to slow the tide. A physical barricade would only slow them, and make them fodder for the Dementors. Either way, she realized, those men and women were already dead.

She bore a haunted expression upon her face, "Aurors! Legion! Volley line fifteen four! Two cycles! Apparate out!" Harry nodded. It was his Legion, but when it came to fighting Dementors, the Aurors certainly had the edge in training and experience. "The Dementor Killer," she shouted to the Legion, "Work's just like the Patronus Charm. Incantation: Iogulus Patronum!"

They formed four ranks of fifteen as instructed and waited. The tide of humanity came closer, so did the Dementors. At fifty feet, there was no real need to aim: The Dementors were the big black cloud hanging above the condemned, "Fire one!"

Fifteen beams of silvery light smashed in to the Dementors, injuring if not killing several. There was no way to tell given the moving mass of blackness. The first ranks retreated and reformed their line as the second wave of fifteen white lasers spat forth. Not as effective as the first, given it was the first time the Legionnaires had ever used this particular charm, but at least one Dementor was decapitated in the volley.

Again, and again, six more times they would fire. Each time a number of Dementors would die, erased forever from existence, but the gathered warriors could do little to stop the stampede. Harry was amongst the last to leave as he took in the sight of the bodies one last time: Men, women and children, staring sightlessly at the sky.

Harry Potter apparated, and reappeared on the designated area of the Manor's front lawn, where his friends and forty Legionnaires awaited him. He stared at everyone, staring at him. He shook his head, "We... lost no one," he said quietly, "But we lost this fight as well."


	11. Chapter 70 - Hell Bound Express

A/N:

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Spot the reference to a movie from the 90s, staring Nicholas Cage and Sean Connery.

Chapter 70

Hell Bound Express

It was a subdued group that met in the Manor, the aftermath of the attack upon Newcastle was front page news in The Quibbler, Daily Prophet and virtually every newspaper in existence. While the newspapers in the wizarding world had printed the truth, the muggles papers had printed but shades of the truth, and that was in no small part thanks to the herculean efforts of the Ministry: Every muggle they had been able to rescue had their memories modified, citing a terrorist attack, using a potent biological agent known as "VX," a poison gas that was odorless, tasteless and killed within minutes of exposure, with no known treatment to counteract the deadly poison. As wizarding history would prove, nature abhors a vacuum and the paper thin story was enough. Needless to say, the muggles were outraged at such an attack, seeing it as an assault upon the nation.

True enough considering there was no way for muggles to comprehend just what a Dementor truly was. Something that the upper echelons of the Legion were only just coming to terms with, courtesy of Amelia Bones, Tonks and Moody who were briefing them as to what Dementors truly are, something which the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries were not too sure about either. The meeting had lasted for over an hour, and there had been frustratingly little to go on.

"So we don't know where they come from, how they are created, why they exist, or why they work for the Ministry as the guardians of Azkaban. They've just "always been there?"" asked Neville.

The gathered trio basically shrugged and nodded, "That's about the size of it," said Tonks. Her eyes were ringed by dark circles. She had not really slept since the attack four days prior, but then given what she and her fellow Aurors has been forced to do, it was no surprise. Harry was used to the lack of sleep. It was the nightmares that were a lot harder to handle. It had taken minimal effort for him to discover the identities of the Aurors who had survived the Newcastle Massacre.

Harry had made counselors and other such measure available through the most discreet of channels imaginable. So far, only seven of the surviving Aurors had taken up the offer. He hoped the rest would as well, in time. Survivors' guilt would be eating the nineteen survivors of what was once a fifty strong task force. Tonks was one of the outstanding twelve.

The discussion would continue for another hour, illuminating the nature of Dementors in some detail that would probably have the Unspeakables getting their underwear in knots over such information being revealed to outsiders. The Dementors do not have a leader of any kind: The creatures share a common hive mind, with the will of the majority being imposed upon all of their kind. "So Voldemort has managed to entice a portion of the Dementors, but not all of them?"

"Not all," confirmed Amelia Bones, "My contacts tell me that this rouge hundred or so are all that have joined forces with Voldemort, but it's only a matter of time before the rest go over to him." Removing the Dementors was not something that the Ministry could even consider: It would only encourage more and more of them to join Voldemort. For now, at least they had them semi contained and under some control.

"Basically, we have to kill them all," said Luna quietly. The question that remained was how this could be accomplished without raising the suspicions of all the Dementors. While the Iogulus Patronus Charm could kill them, it took significant magical strength and power to do so with a single charm. That was why Aurors tended to mass cast on a single target. That and the Ministry was not going to sign the death warrants of the Dementors for two reasons: The first was that doing so would drive the Dementors straight in Voldemort's arms. The second was the wizarding world slept at night because the Dementors guard Azkaban. The irony, was not lost on any of those at the meeting. Harry made a note to have a chat with Fudge about the Dementor problem.

The remaining days of the summer holiday were spent making the usual preparations for a return to Hogwarts, something Harry found himself more and more against doing. He failed to see how writing essays could be of any use to him at all. At the end of the day, if he killed Voldemort, he would be able to walk in any job in the British Wizarding World. If he died, then it really did not matter how many NEWTS and Owls he had. The same would hold true for most of the Legion Core, and could possibly extend to the Legion as a whole. If they survived this, then they would be looking at careers in law enforcement.

Diagon Alley was under heavy guard, as were the other crucial centers of wizarding life across the country. The heavy presence of Aurors on the wizarding streets no doubt served to help reinforce the calm of the public as students from first years through to those entering their seventh and final year at Hogwarts, but Harry could not help but wonder what Voldemort was planning to do next.

The Squib population had taken a significant hit as well: Over a hundred had been killed since the beginning of the summer and their cumulative deaths had been noticed. What had pleased Harry to no end however was the a few such families had managed to get their hands on hunting shotguns, and had defended themselves to the last. They were unsung heroes who had taken half a dozen Death Eaters with them. If only they had been the real thing and not more of those damned Effingus.

For all the factions involved, the last few days of the summer passed quietly and without incident. But Voldemort was just waiting for the time to be right: Everything else, everyone else, was already in place. They but awaited his final command to execute what would essentially be the war winning assault against the Ministry, Diagon Alley, Gringotts, St. Mungos and several other choice targets, simultaneously. And those loyal to him would know in advance that a portkey, Floo or Apparation would be the preferred methods of travel to Hogwarts for the coming school year: Only muggleborn filth, half breeds and blood traitors were on board the Hogwarts Express along with a number of Professors.

Giving credit where credit is due, the Ministry had assigned two full teams of Aurors mounted on brooms to fly as escorts. However, calling them two full teams was something of an understatement, given that recent casualties had forced the Ministry to re-designate the size of their teams as eight instead of the standard twelve. Harry was pleased: Fudge seemed to have managed to get his head out of his ass, or he had some very good people now advising him on what to do, even if he had refused pointblank to remove the Dementors from Azkaban.

Somewhere a clock chimed, fifteen minutes till eleven. Surrounded by his friends, they passed through the barrier on to Platform 93/4. For the first time he could ever remember, Harry found himself dreading the start of another school year. Where Hogwarts had once been a bastion of his hopes, dreams and happiest memories, there was little left of that happiness and good times, given the events of the last two years.

Harry studied the shiny red locomotive, and it threw his mind back to his first year, the first time he had seen the Hogwarts Express. With a start, something fell in to place: How in the world could Mrs. Weaseley have forgotten the platform number for the Hogwarts Express? It was the only magical train platform in London! Not only that, but she had been sending her children to Hogwarts for at least a decade before Harry even entered the wizarding world! Something he was going to have to discuss with Dumbledore if the opportunity ever presented itself. The darker possibility, or possibilities for that matter, simply did not occur to him.

His presence had brought a dead stop to all activity on the platform. Parents and the students, all of them were staring at him. Recent events were on everyone's mind and the crowd parted respectfully as he moved towards the Express. Harry boarded the train, but for the life of him, could not get over the feeling of foreboding that dogged his every step. He took a seat in one of the compartments in the center of the train, and his friends piled in behind him, quickly expanding the space within the compartment to accommodate them comfortably. There was a shrill whistle followed by the sharp jerk one associated with the train pulling out of the station, beginning its journey North to Hogsmeade.

In Malfoy Manor, the Dark Lord watched the final preparations of his army of Death Eaters. However his thoughts were focused on the overall progression of his campaign. Granted, they had already made good progress in eliminating the squibs that tainted the country, but Harry Potter was proving to be a significantly more tenacious foe than he had imagined. The battle at Grimmauld Place had proven that Harry had a strong cadre of followers, and the Order of the Phoenix was proving to be as large a thorn in his side now as it had posed during the first war.

However, the Dementors had proven to be a very effective terror weapon against the muggle population, though the Ministry had demonstrated that it was far from completely spineless, having reacted with unmatched speed. The Director of Magical Law Enforcement was listening to the advice of his deputy, Amelia Bones. Another thorn in his side: It had taken a significant number of Galleons to arrange her impeachment through the various pureblood families of the Wizengamot. Harry had played a smaller but still significant role in driving the Dementors away from Newcastle, and it spoke volumes of just how well his faction was trained and equipped. He had pondered the source of Harry's funding but quickly came to the conclusion that he was spending his family's wealth.

The Patronus glided through the walls of the Manor. He recognized the bat form almost immediately and the smooth, yet somehow still subservient voice with its oily undertones gave him the news he had hoped to hear: Potter and his friends were aboard the Express which had just begun its journey.

"Death Eaters!" he said in a near whisper. Still, all activity stopped, awaiting his next command with batted breath, "Attack. Take no prisoners and leave none alive." With any luck, the attack would proceed as planned, wiping out Harry Potter, his friends and the Hogwarts Express within a matter of minutes. Once he was dead, they would make their assault upon the Ministry of Magic itself and slaughter the upper echalons of the wizarding government in one fell swoop, giving him complete control of the country in a matter of hours. As much as he would have enjoyed killing Harry James Potter with his own wand - as it were - he understood full well that his presence at the assault upon the Ministry would ensure it fell that much faster, and sowed even more terror across the country. What better way to secure the start of his reign than by removing all oppositions... well, nearly all opposition: Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix would remain a threat, but one that could be easily marginalized and dealt with when the time came.

The Express made its way steadily north and they were perhaps halfway to Hogwarts when a knock came at the door. The knock certainly ruled out the possibility of Draco and his henchmen making their annual visit. The door slid open smoothly, and Harry was more than a little surprised to find his Charms Professor, Flitwick standing in the doorway, "Good morning, Professor Flitwick," said Luna, greeting her head of house.

The diminutive charms instructor smiled warmly, "Good Morning Miss Lovegood. Ladies, gentlemen" he said, greeting the others, "I take it your summer has been... an interesting one."

"Interesting is not quite the right word for it," said Neville quietly, "What are you doing on board, Sir?"

"Professor Dumbledore felt that a little extra security on the Express would not be unwarranted, given recent events," he said in a reassuring voice, "Professors McGonagall, Vector and several others are also aboard." Flitwick frowned and excused himself to deal with a number of students who were in the corridor, waving their wands about themselves.

"Exploding Snap?" suggested Colin pulling out a deck of cards. The game proceeded with all of them taking turns to get their fingers burned or their eyebrows singed or partially obliterated whenever the stack of cards exploded. It seemed unfair that Ginny had the lightest touch, always avoiding being the one to detonate the stack, even when it was smoldering. "How do you do it?" asked Colin who was nursing a pair of burned fingers.

She simply grinned, and laid down another card, "Practice," she replied.

Luna laid her card upon the pile as gingerly as she could. There was pin drop silence before an explosion rang out. The train lurched and the stack of cards exploded upwards and outwards, showering them with flaming cards. They quickly came to the same conclusion and within moments had shed their bulky robes. Nobody was surprised that everyone was clad in full war-gear beneath their robes.

Harry tapped the ring with his wand and dashed off a message as he caught sight of Professor McGonagall hurrying down the length of the train. Swinging open the carriage door he called out to her, "Professor, what's going on?"

"Death Eaters!" she replied as she slammed open a window, pushed herself through the opening and unleash a cutting curse, "They have engaged the Aurors and taken out the Locomotive!" She ducked back inside as a curse tore through the wooden wall of the carriage. The walls of the carriages were at least a foot thick, but that clearly was not going to protect them from the upcoming assault. Another curse punched through the wall, and two windows were blown out raining glass on to the floor.

"The students," said Neville suddenly, "When we were getting on... there were so few of us remember? I hardly saw any of the senior Slytherins. And a lot of other people... weren't there either."

"It's one heck of an ambush," said Colin, "... I don't think any of us are meant to survive this." The train was rolling to a halt, "We're sitting ducks."

"I'm starting to hate," growled Harry, as a curse blasted in through the window, "how they always seem to have the initiative." From a broken window he launched a spell chain of blasting hexes and cutting curses in a wide swatch. He hit nothing, but at least it sent a clear message that they were not going down without a fight as a small copse of trees were obliterated.

"We can't hold here!" shouted Harry as he studied the battlefield. Overhead, the Aurors and Death Eaters continued to duel in midair on brooms. They had to move, he realized: All of them. Anyone left in the train would get an Avada Kedevra - if they were lucky. The copse of trees was the edge of a small wood. There was almost fifty meters of open ground for them to cover, but for the moment, the Death Eaters were still too busy with the Aurors. Only two or three dozen effingus blocked their path. Harry pointed his wand as his throat casting a Sonorus Charm, "Legion!"

Over two hundred voices roared back. A good sign: Their blood was up and choleric. They'd fight like demon possessed lunatics, "Anyone who cares to take a stand for the Light: This is your time. Those of you that do not wish to fight, make your way to the woods when signaled!"

The wood stood in the middle of large open field. It was better than their current cover: It was thick enough that fliers would not have a chance of hitting them from above, and they would hopefully be able to fortify it well enough to hold until the Aurors, and Merlin help him, the Order of the Phoenix showed up. He tapped his ring, and his orders made their way to everyone. He waited, letting precious seconds they could ill afford pass. Along the length of the train, walls exploded and windows shattered, raining wood and glass on the students. The junior years were already hugging the floor and covering themselves with their robes, screaming in terror.

No time. There was never enough time, he realized, "Legion! Execute one!"

The doors swung and more than half the students streamed from the train, a mad dash to the relative safety of the woods. Those that stayed behind maintained a steam stream of curses and hexes. They threw everything they had from mundane schoolyard jinxes to those that were outright deadly. Harry and the Legion Core held their fire, watching and waiting. Sure enough, a Death Eater poked his head out. Colin blew him apart with a well-placed blasting curse without breaking stride as he dived into the woods. There were still a number of Legionnaires exposed in the open, "Shift fire! Shift fire skywards!" shouted Ginny.

She had spotted the airborne threat long before anyone. Small wonder given that she was the Gryffindor Seeker, and had blown one Death Eater off his broom with a powerful wind charm. They were forced to split their attention, keeping the Death Eaters on the ground pinned in place. If the fliers were free to carry out strafing runs that meant the Aurors were slain.

The ring on Harry's hand grew warm. "Execute two!" he shouted. They abandoned the train, as the first half of the Legion to cross the treacherous open ground laid down covering fire from the relative safety of the woods. Harry was one of the last off the train, ensuring that nobody had been left behind or forgotten, and not a moment too soon. He was barely ten feet away when a pack of Death Eaters swooped down; unleashing a barrage of blasting and exploding curses that systematically obliterated the carriages of the Hogwarts Express, leaving matchsticks and kindling. The shockwave from the blast picked him up and bodily hurled him halfway across the gap. It was never the getting blown off your feet part that hurt, Harry mused as he spun head over heels through the air. It would be the landing. He cast a quick cushioning charm, which worked well enough to prevent him from hitting the ground with bone shattering force. It did not however, prevent him from bouncing and landing in an undignified heap on the ground, several feet in front of his cushioning charm, but also several feet closer to a better grade of cover.

Stunned for a moment, he voiced no complaint as several people dashed forward and dragged him in to the cover of the trees, just as a pair of killing curses slammed into the ground, turning the grass a sickly grey before it turned to ash. He absently noted a silver streak shoot out of the woods, heading south towards London. Somebody, he was pleased to note, had thought of summoning reinforcements.

"Sitrep!" yelled Colin, as a wave of red and green light flashed into the woods at chest height. Not that it mattered; everyone was crawling around on their hands and knees, moving at incredibly high speed like a race of invertebrates. Nobody questioned Colin taking charge as the legionnaires set to work, converting the small dense stand of trees to a solid set of blockhouse like fortifications that included plastering the entire area with as many wards as possible. They herded the junior students to the center, where they were arguably the safest. Out of the six hundred students actually on the train, about a third of that number was Legionnaires. If only the others would actually pick up their wands and fucking fight!

Harry abruptly sat up, "Anybody get the number of the truck?" he asked, shaking the cobwebs from in front of his eyes. There was a chuckle amongst the students at that as he held out his hand and wordlessly summoned his fallen wand to him. "Where are the professors?" 

"Holding the other side of the wood with about a third of the Legion, they've got a lighter, almost screening force over there: They're happy to pin us here." replied Colin, "Luna's up in the trees with about three dozen, sniping and just generally giving them a hard time." The woods were warded up to the nines; they had good solid cover in and amongst the trees. The Death Eaters however were out in the open, and Luna had reported at least two hundred Death Eaters out in the field, they were scattered and spread out.

"No mercy, no prisoners," he thought savagely, "Fucking effingus." He shook his head, "That's not a screening force. That force is an anvil. The fuckers out there," he gestured vaguely towards the charred ruin of the express, "Are the hammer. We're smack dab in the middle."

The Legionnaires in the treetops employed blasting hexes and bombardment curses like grenades to keep the enemy from regrouping. A few used the Piercing Charm, almost like a sniper rifle to bring down lone Death Eaters. It was working as the followers of the Dark Lord were so busy dodging and throwing up temporary shields that they could not bring their full firepower to bear on the woods.

It did not take the Death Eaters long to realize that they could not advance so long as they were being sniped and harassed. Suddenly, almost forty Death Eaters raised their wands and unleashed a barrage of cutting and piercing hexes. Luna, who had orchestrated the unorthodox tactics, realized the threat, "Down! Down!"

She leaped as the trees she had been perched on came apart in a shower of knife like splinters. She hit the ground and rolled. Others escaped the counter volley, but Jillian McDaniel, Steven Crawfoot and Sean Corvin were literally blown out of their perches and smashed into the ground. A chorus of shouts, screaming "Man down!" or "Healer!" rang out almost immediately.

Russell Eugene Nolan was one of those who had opted to learn the healing arts and had waited silently, praying that his forte would not be needed. Recent events had proved that was not to be. The ground was ruined by so many fallen students, the curses and hexes that had scarred the terrain, making it look as if the entrails of the earth itself had been blown out and exposed. He moved towards the closest voice screaming "Healer! Healer!"

"I have it!" yelled another, scrambling across the open ground. A Legionnaire was holding someone down to prevent them from tearing a half a tree branch from their shoulder.

'This is what hell looks like,' Russell thought. He had first trained under Ginny Weasely in the Room of Requirement, then under the Goblins at Potter Manor. In both cases he had seen the wounds, smelt the blood and even tasted it. This was a full scale battlefield, and he had only ever read a few texts on the subject. The death and injury were shocking enough. But what truly struck him to the core was the raging fury that was utterly callousness of the wounding, the pain, and the hurt. "Healer!"

He dropped to his knees, pulling open his kit of potions and supplies and set to work, diagnosing, numbing, treating and healing. "Guess I didn't duck in time," whispered Cho Chang with a weak sort of smile. It took only a minute and she was ready to return to battle.

Every time he thought he had seen a horror of war, the horrors of war, he would move to the next cry of "Healer!" and he would see some new horror. He shuddered, and wondered how Harry James Potter, could possibly be sane after everything that he had done in his life, "Healer!"

He waved, "Stay in cover! I'm coming!"

With a roar, the Death Eaters charged.

Ginny had sat in a near meditative silence for several minutes and then her eyes had snapped open. She rose, wand in hand, and began to chant in the harsh gutteral syllables of the Goblin Language. Those in the know recognized the spell as one of Geomancy. The rest simply stared as the ground absorbed her magic, cracked and began to rumble. Neville recognized and understood what she was trying to do. He placed his hand atop hers, adding his magic to the spell.

Sweat was already beading upon Ginny's forehead, and her breathing was fast and shallow. The sheer enormity of what she was attempting could kill her, but she pushed on, sparing a moment to give Neville a smile of thanks. One he returned in kind. The jagged scar in the earth widened and deepened until it was almost ten feet across, and even deeper than that.

The wild unchecked charge of the Death Eaters was their own downfall, literally as the first ranks stumbled to a halt, only to be pushed forwards, and over the edge by their fellows who could not see the danger. Ginny slumped to the ground, soaked in sweat. Neville stumbled as her weight dragged him down. There was no denying he was feeling the drain as well, "Healer!" he screamed. Russell shouted back and like the rest of his kin, made like a high speed invertebrate, scuttling on his hands and knees towards the pair.

"Fire one!" Some three hundred students opened up throwing everything from stunners to blasters, reductors, cutting, piercing and bombardment charms. Hard on the heels of the first barrage, they took a moment to gather themselves and prepared to cast another spell chain. Just like they had trained. The first were spells designed to disrupt shields and shattered any conjured defenses.

"Fire two!" The Legionnaires cast, with intent to kill: Entrails expelling, bone crushers, pulverizing charms, blood boiling hexes, skinning charms and from the Legion Core, five sickly green Avada Kedevra curses.

The sheer volume of magic did not kill as much as vaporize the Death Eaters. Over half their number lay slain on the battlefield or at the bottom of the gorge. The Death Eater commander recognized the futility of a frontal assault and signaled a withdrawal to the still burning Hogwarts Express. They would have cover there as he ordered half his remaining strength to circle, join up with their force on the other side of the wood and assault from that direction.

Taking advantage of the lull in the fighting Harry looked around to check on the condition of his forces. Multiple injured... several were dead... and they were stuck here. All they had done was push back the time of their death. Colin had taken to the trees, not to engage but to scout the enemy with a pair of ominculors. For the third time in his short life, he felt fear, but managed to keep it from his voice, "Enemy reinforcements! Portkey and apparation near the Express! Twenty, thirty... still incoming!" He clambered up to a higher branch, "Assault force regrouping on the far side, sixty plus... seventy plus... North line has a party of thirty or forty... flanker's from Express side! Two-seventy degree con... fuck it! Contact is three-sixty! Contact approaching…" A dark green curse flew through the tree, narrowly missing him as leaves and branches died. He leaped for the ground as another killing curse swept through the tree, blasting the trunk of tree, screaming as he fell, "Contacts approaching from all sides!"

The sheer volume of incoming fire forced them all to take cover. Only a few were crazy enough to brave the incoming storm, firing back at any target they could find, missing more often than not. They needed to regain the initiative, but by Colin's count, there were over three hundred Death Eaters surrounding them. What frustrated Harry was that he had the numbers! He had six hundred students! The only problem was that only a third were Legion trained. The bigger problem was that less than half of them had experienced the hellish nightmare of combat.

Death Eater Walden Macnair, commander of this attack had gone through several different emotional states in the past thirty minutes. He had been delighted when six of the Aurors and the locomotive of the Express had been reduced to molten slag. Things had gotten even better when the brats, blood traitors and muggleborn vermin, had fled the train and headed for the woods. Things had become... complicated at that point, and then things had gotten completely out of hand. He simply could not fathom the fact that mere school children had been able to hold up so many Death Eaters. There were hundreds of them! Well... there were hundreds more children, but they were only children! It simply wasn't fair!

He was doing his level best but he was being outsmarted by children! He snap-apparated around the wood, in time to rejoin his forces as they advanced, this time doing it smart: They were using shields to cover their advance. They were still dying but still, they were closing the gap. Macnair grinned beneath his mask: It would not be long now. So many filthy muggleborns... so many filthy little muggleborn girls. He would have his fun with them when the time came.

A beam of light shot down from the heavens, and landed in the woods. Macnair frowned, and called a halt to the advance. He looked around himself and nodded, more to reassure himself than anything else. In the middle of fifty Death Eaters, he could not be much safer than that.

The silver beam slapped the ground and immediately began to take shape. He had never seen a creature quite like it. It looked like a dog crossed with an armadillo. It turned to face Harry and he noted the incredibly long claws, and then teeth.

"Kerashaw," said Luna with just a hint of a grin, "Told you they were real."

They are real, but this was a patronus messenger of the Goblins. It nodded and the voice of Griphook echoed from it, "The Axe Masters and Swordwind Blades are to the South. The Twins are with us. We will require a distraction to close the distance."

"Illusions," said Colin, "we just send them out in a suicide charge."

Harry nodded, "Do it," he turned to Russell, their currently healer in charge, "how bad?"

"Eighteen dead, twenty-six with severe injuries. Forty nine more wounded."

A flash back to the infirmary in the manor. He only hoped that the goblin healers he had on his staff were ready to deal with so many incoming wounded. No doubt Griphook had made them aware of the situation.

He handed a stack of what looked like post its. They were the same type of portkey that the Ministry had used to evacuate the muggles when Northumbria had been nearly overrun by Dementors. Harry would be the first to admit that just because the Ministry was mostly brain dead or damaged, it did not mean that they didn't come up with an original idea once in a while. And there was no shame in copying a good idea. "One on each," he instructed, "When the wards drop, you get the injured... and the dead out of here. These single use Portkey's will pass through the Manor wards no problem."

"Colin, on your mark."

The youngest of the Legion Core, one of the youngest Legionnaires in fact, nodded. Somehow it came as no surprise that Colin had drawn the duty. He tapped his own ring and sent out instructions of his own; he waited a moment and then tapped his ring again before casting his own illusion.

A hundred illusionary Legionnaires charged from the woods out in to the open field. The Death Eaters were stunned for a moment, but opened with a furious barrage. Harry dropped the wards and Russell, along with several others portkeyed out, taking the wounded and the fallen with them. Harry turned his full attention to the fight: There was nothing left to do now, but kill them all.

The Axe Masters and Swordwind Blades had used the distraction to close until they were quite literally on top of the Death Eaters before making their presence known. In the first seconds, dozens of Death Eaters fell, struck down by both blade and spell. Walden Macnair was tossed forward as a bone breaker slammed in him, shattering his pelvis, dropping him to the ground where he screamed in agony, his wand rolling across the grassy ground

.

A Goblin ended his suffering with a quick swing, decapitating the marked Death Eater. It was one stroke with an axe that radically altered the face of the battle. Across the field, dozens of Death Eaters stopped, and began to scream in agony, as if they were all simultaneously being put under the Cruciatus Curse. But this was no curse. It was a long held fact that should Voldemort die; all of his marked servants would also perish. It was why the Death Eaters had survived his defeat - not death - in 1981, the night he had tried to kill an infant Harry Potter. It was how the Death Eaters had known that their master was alive, in some fashion, for so many years before he returned some two years before. The Effingus Death Eaters are magical copies of the original, crafted through a blend of magic, alchemy and muggle science - not that Voldemort would ever admit the last part even if he was on his death bed. But the same principle held true: With the death of the original, the copies also died - slower and far more agonizing deaths as the magic which sustained them faded, causing their bodies to decompose from the inside out.

Though they had no way of knowing it, they had just turned the tide at several other battles raging across the wizarding world at that particular moment.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the last of the wounded vanished, whisked away by Portkey to where the best healers money could quite literally buy were waiting. "Let's finish this," he said, turning, he strode out of the trees and into the whirling chaos of battle.

The Goblins had quite literally done a number on the Death Eaters, and the fighting was almost exclusively one sided as the Goblin's fanned out, adopting a crescent with the points forward. Suddenly, the Death Eaters were the ones caught between a hammer of the Swordwind Blades and Axe Masters, and the anvil of Legionnaires. The fighting would be over in minutes.

Death Eater Daniel Milnes was a recent inductee to the cause of the Death Eaters. So much so that this was his first battle alongside his marked brethren. The recent graduate of Ravenclaw house had never given a thought to how it was to die. He had been an ardent Quidditch fan, and had played on his house team for his last three years at Hogwarts. He had joked with his friends that whatever lay beyond this life, was a nonstop, never ending Quidditch pitch where every match was the World Cup Final, and that they would always be on the winning team.

He had watched two of his friends, also Ravenclaws die. One was eviscerated by some curse, the other had his wand arm, followed closely by his head hacked off by a Goblin in silver trimmed armor, wielding a pair of short scimitars. The clamor of battle was close, the screams and cries of the combatants on both sides. The smell of blood and death was rancid and thick in the air.

His wand arm was shattered: Every bone pulverized by a bone breaking curse. The pain was something he had no experience with, and as he lay there, he cried. There was nothing beautiful, right or pure about the cause he had supported for the past eight months, first quietly as a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and then as an adult wizard.

He could see the curses flash over his prone form as he looked up at the sky. He could see the smoke from the burning Express out of the corner of his eye, and he found himself wishing that he had died in the air as he closed his eyes, perhaps for the last time on the cold hard unforgiving ground. He could only lie there and wait for death to come. They were a lot closer now: he could hear the swish and crack of spell fire, of snap-apparition. Yes death was very close. He couldn't help but wonder if death would come from a spell or from a Goblin blade, and found himself wondering which one would be... quicker? More merciful? He sighed and waited.

Ignoring the dried out husks of the fallen Effingus, Colin stalked amongst the bodies, making sure that the "dead" were well and truly dead. The Goblins had taken more than their fair share of "trophies", but most were desiccated husks. Nearly the entire assault force had been Effingus Death Eaters, except for perhaps two dozen odd bodies.

Some of the Legionnaires were in tears as they recognized the bodies of friends, and former housemates: All of them were recent graduates. What was worse perhaps was that they all bore the Dark Mark upon their right arm, just below the elbow. For Milnes, every bone from fingertip to collarbone- shattered. Fitting after a fashion. The pain was there, but it had subsided to a dull throbbing that ate away at the edges of his mind. At least, that was all it was until something kicked his arm, causing him to moan in pain.

"Got a live one here!" shouted Colin, and he could clearly see the Dark Mark imprinted on the young man's forearm. Someone, he thought grimly, who had completely chosen the wrong side. "Fucked with the wrong group of kids didn't you, Death Eater?"

Colin knelt next to what was, in his mind one of the most repulsive forms of human life on the planet, "You want me to kill you? Death Eater scum? Spare you Azkaban and the Dementors?" Danial would have moved, would have shook his head were it not for his shattered arm and shoulder that made even the simple act of breathing agonizing, "Here's the good news: I'm not going to kill you." Colin rose, and pointed his wand at him, "I'm going to bind you and leave you for the Aurors to find - if they ever fuckin' show up!"

He flicked his wand, a quick up and down motion as a length of rope shot from the end of his wand. A shield snapped in to place over the fallen Death Eater. The ropes bounced off and coiled loosely at the wounded Death Eater's side. "No," said Luna firmly.

"Luna? The hell?" he asked,

"He's wounded," she said.

"Yeah he's wounded. He's also the enemy who would not hesitate to kill you if he could use his wand right now. He's a Death Eater, a scum follower of Voldemort!" he snarled, his wand still pointed at the prone figure.

"He's a soldier," agreed Luna, "He's also a human being. If we descend to their level, then we're no better than they are." Colin met his girlfriend's gaze, and to those watching, it was clear that an unspoken conversation was taking place between them. "Killing him won't bring back my father. Killing him, won't bring back your family. Don't become the animal that he is," Luna declared, a tear rolling down her cheek, "Please."

Finally Colin nodded, "I'm keeping my wand on him. He so much as looks at you wrong, I'll kill him."

She nodded and knelt next to him, "May I look at your arm?" Daniel looked up in to a pair of silver-grey eyes. He recognized her almost instantly. There was no doubt that this was the same Luna Lovegood he had called "Loony" for years. He nodded his head slightly, unable to speak. She cast a numbing charm, and set to work, gently immobilizing the shattered limb. He glanced over and saw Colin standing with his wand barely three inches from his head. "Did that hurt?" she asked with concern.

"No…no it's alright," he answered in a whisper

"That should take care of you until you can get proper medical attention," she said, rising to her feet.

He raised his eyes and locked them onto hers. "Thank you," he said sincerely, "Who... are you people?"

She bound him with ropes, "We, are Legion." replied Luna. Moments later, there was a jerk behind his navel and he vanished in a whirlwind of color and sound.

The Hogwarts Express had burned until only the twisted, blackened remains of its steel chassis remained. But the Legion had wasted no time once the battle was done: They had secured their few prisoners and continued their journey North, towards Hogwarts via rather circuitous route involving a trip back to London via Portkey, followed by Floo travel to the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.

It had caused no small amount of pandemonium when six Legionnaires had exploded out of Madame Rosemerta's fireplace, ready to blast her bar in to smithereens. Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived was the seventh person to emerge from said fireplace, "Sorry for the disturbance Rosey," he said, "But afraid that your Floo is going to get one heck of a workout today: We've got about three hundred and fifty kids coming through this way." She did a passable goldfish impression as her mind struggled to process the sheer number of people involved. "Might I ask you to send word to whoever's waiting at the station that we're going to need the carriages at the Leaky Cauldron this year?"

No one had anticipated the incredible traffic jam that resulted as more than one student stopped to simply gawk at the creatures harnessed between the shafts of the carriage: The senior years seem to bear up to the scrutiny of a Hippogriff quite well, those first and second years caught up in the fight, who had quite accidentally seen death, did not handle it so well. Madame Pomfrey would be handing out an incredible amount of calming draught that evening.

Harry cast a tempus spell: twenty-six minutes since the attack on the Express. No Aurors? That struck him as strange. What struck him as even stranger still was that Dumbledore himself had not arrived to investigate, never mind the Order of the Phoenix. Harry blinked as the pieces fell in place. There was no way that this was an isolated assault. He would have hit multiple targets.

He saw a beam of silver land next to Susan Bones, and deliver a message to her. "Harry!" she shouted. She ran to him, her face paler than bleached bone, "Death Eaters," she whispered, "My aunt… they've burned Auror Command to the ground!"


	12. Chapter 71 - Battlegrounds

A/N:

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Compliments to Stark Industries and the "Newest in Stark Industries' Freedom Line."

Chapter 71

Battlegrounds

Cornelius Fudge sighed and rubbed his weary eyes. He closed them, and rested his head against his hands. It was his favorite substitute for sleep, something which he had gotten very little of in the past few weeks. Voldermort's forces had limited their assaults upon the wizarding world, but that had not stopped them from keeping up a campaign of terror that had the muggle prime minster screaming bloody murder. There was little that he could do, and frankly he could not blame the muggle in the slightest.

The American Ministry had considered lending assistance to the Legion, but the main problem was the rest of Europe: They were simply too frightened of Voldemort to do anything. Spain, and Bulgaria had pointblank refused to take any action to stem the flow of support from their countries to Voldemort. The truth however was that much of Eastern Europe actually supported the Dark Lord. They had made the muggle authorities aware, but there was little that they could do against portkeys and apparition. Fudge had considered raising the War Wards that had helped dissuade a certain Adolf Hitler – known better as Grindenwald to the magical world – from invading Britain during the Second World War. But doing so would be a double edged sword: They were also dependent upon international trade and business.

"Minister?" said Percy quietly, "You have been up for almost two days. I realize it is still early in the day, but perhaps a few hours of rest would be appropriate."

"Yes," admitted the Minister quietly, not having moved since he rested his head on his hands. The solitude of the blackness behind his eyes was a small comfort in such times, "You are right, Weasely."

"Then allow me to assist," The minister looked up, and to his surprise found Percy standing with his wand in hand, pointed directly at him. Cornelius Oswald Fudge rocked back in his chair. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but no sound emerged before he heard two words, "Avada Kedevra!"

Percy Weasely, or rather the effingus drew a crystal from his pocket and tapped it twice with his wand. It glowed green. Seconds later he heard the alarm blaring throughout the Ministry. He smiled, gently, courteous almost. Under standard procedure, this would lock down every floor, prevented movement in and out, unless you had the proper authorization. As the senior aide to the minister – he looked over the table at the corpse slumped in the minister's chair – former minister, he had such authority. A wave of his wand, and the former Minister's personal Floo was open to the outside. Wand in hand, he coolly left the office as the Death Eaters snuck in, and dragged out the corpse. By the time the battle was over, the minister would have been replaced by an Effingus, and none would be the wiser. The assault upon Auror Command was in full swing by now. That would make Pius Thicknesse, his only remaining target, easy to find. Percy slipped into the office of the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, shut off the Floo, and simply waited.

Pius Thicknesse ran into his office, and stared at the dead fireplace. The pieces fell in place, and he pulled his wand just as the bone breaking curse smashed into his spine, shattering it from top to bottom. A quick cutting curse finished the job. Percy Weasely smiled and returned to his office, his task complete.

Amelia Bones had been studying the inventory manifest when she felt a rippling sensation that made hair on her hair on the back of her neck stand up. She knew that feeling, one that she had not felt since the First War with Voldemort. She looked out her window and was not surprised to see dozens, if not hundreds of black robed, silver masked individuals streaming across the training grounds of Britain's magical police force.

The wards were down, but then, they had long expected such an assault to begin by bringing their wards down. All that had done was to bring the slumbering defenses to life. The Aurors have long been the police force, but for many years, almost a century in fact, the Aurors have held a dual role: They are also the soldiers, the army of the wizarding world, should it ever come to open war with the muggles. They were under orders and during the first war Voldermort had almost caused the activation of their second role. There was no time to debate however: This was war.

Her people knew what to do. They had trained for this after all. She watched as the hidden defenses of the compound came to life. Devastator Crystals buried in the ground detonated sending Death Eaters into the air, torsos and limbs flying in opposing directions. The compound boasted a defensive perimeter only a few hundred meters deep and the traps would buy them but a few minutes.

She placed her hand on the top of her desk; a red glow surrounded her hand for a moment, and then faded. "All staff: Death Eaters are attacking. Prepare for wargear assignment!" She stood, and yanked open a cupboard that had not been opened in some months now, when she had ordered that every Auror double check, repair, and even upgrade to ensure that everything was in perfect working order. Her hands ran over the buckles and fasteners with practiced ease, and she emerged from her office, clad in full dragon hide armor. Everyone in her office was armored, and had their wands in hands. Every Auror wore a belt, hanging from which was a number of pouches. Every one, she knew, would have at least three Devastator Crystals, and a suite of potions to keep them in the fight for as long as possible. She nodded to those descending the stairs to the ground floor, where her office was located: A total of hundred plus Aurors and Hit Wizards. She estimated that they would be able to provide perhaps thirty minutes of resistance.

"Ma'am," said Tonks, "Our wards are down, and they were quick to setup wards of their own. Portkey and apparition out of here won't work. Floo's also been cut."

A spell lanced through a window, smashing into a cabinet. It smoldered. Whatever documents were stored flared brightly, burned for several seconds as they fluttered to the floor, "Somebody's going to have to spend the weekend refilling those TPS reports," remarked the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There were a few smiles, which brought a smile to her face. Good, she thought, at least there was some morale left. She focused her magic and in a fraction of a second had apparated three feet to the left. She smiled.

If there was one difference between the Legion, the Order and the Aurors, it was a simple one: The Order dueled to capture, the Legion dueled with the intent to kill. Aurors don't duel: They fight as dirty and as underhanded as the Death Eaters - perhaps even worse than they do. "We can't apprate out," she said, "But we can apparate within Command. Consolidated Defense Plan C," she ordered.

Auror Command was a large, sprawling compound that had simply grown over the years as facilities and building were added. Despite the sprawl, Amelia Bones had spent some time studying the entire complex by eye, and the result was Consolidated Defense Plan C. Instead of focusing on fixed, almost static defenses, she had identified intersections, pathways and even buildings that could be used to execute snap ambushes and given that they could still apparate within the wards themselves, they were far more mobile than the enemy realized.

She sent a Patronus messenger to her daughter, and another to Dumbledore and the Order. She hesitated and sent another to The Legion. Reinforcements from, well, anywhere would be welcome. But she knew that reinforcements would take time. If Voldemort was confident enough to strike at Auror Command, it was more than likely that the Ministry, St. Mungo's, and Diagon Alley were also under attack. The thought of Voldemort targeting the Hogwarts Express, never crossed her mind.

The Aurors apparated from the main building to take up pre-prepared positions. The main building stood at the fair end of the compound. Seven stories high, it was a free standing structure, surrounded by a low wall about teen feet high, and only a foot and a half thick, but every stone had been enchanted and strengthened, giving the wall a disproportionate amount of strength. Beyond the wall were a series of low rising buildings, collectively the "Warehouses" that stored anything and everything. They lay just off to the left across a generously wide path. Archives were a similar structure that stored miscellaneous bric-a-brak and a lot of junk, only to the right. The three groups of buildings formed a loose "v" shape. Across open ground lay the obstacle course, surrounded by a running track. The left side of the running track was what was almost a refugee camp: rows of neatly pitched tents, which contrasted sharply with the four, six story accommodations blocks for senior trainees and junior grade Aurors.

On the far side, opposite the main building, was a series of roofless structures, known as the "Kill Houses." They ranged in size from a single bedroom to a full seven story structure. They were used in training for actual combat including room, apartment and house clearing, as well as full scale vertical assaults. Needless to say, the same rooms were also used in reverse, teaching Aurors how to ward and defend against all manners of attack.

She cocked her head and listened: The Death Eaters were singing. Something, a song she had never heard before, in Latin perhaps, or some other language she couldn't place, "We're going to have to put a stop to that," she muttered.

They had crossed into the Kill Houses, passing by the first of the structures. It blew itself apart in a ball of flame, stone and wood. The Death Eaters stopped singing and went to ground. Amelia smiled: They were using the other structures for cover. Two more exploded, courtesy of Devastators Crystals no doubt placed by the Aurors. A quartet of Aurors broke cover, running and leaping down in the obstacle course, commonly known as "The Pit." They drew a horrendous amount of spell fire, and pulled the Death Eaters forward.

"They're not too bright," mused Tonks as the remaining half a dozen smaller, three, four and five story buildings came apart with explosive force. The only still standing was the tallest of the Kill House buildings, and the Death Eaters had it fully surrounded, but they continued to press the advance.

Conjuring and casting flame is not a difficult task for many witches and wizards, but most lack the necessary skill to control it. This makes spells such as Fyndfire beyond the reach of many. Enter: Dragon's Breath. A muggle born had essentially taken a muggle flamethrower, shrunk it down, and replaced a lot of mechanical parts with magical components to create a hand sized weapon capable of projecting a cone of burning flame. The ground and first floor seemed to roar for a split second before cones of flames descended upon the passing Death Eaters. Fire lanced in all directions, creating a twenty meter wide kill zone with the building as its epicenter.

The smell of burning flesh and melting fat sizzled. More than a few of the Death Eaters were turned to blazing candles that ran and staggered forward several paces before collapsing, dead on the ground.

The Aurors followed up, banishing yet another weapon from their war fighting arsenal into the midst of the Death Eaters: Fragmentation Spheres. They were the size of a clenched fist and flew through the air in gentle arcs, before plummeting to the ground, or off the chests, heads and, in several cases, the face of a Death Eater. They detonated with spectacular results. Flames of blue, red, and green exploded outwards, like miniature suns going supernova as heat and shrapnel cut holes through the ranks of the attacking Death Eaters. The structure was immediately targeted with a ruinous volume of firepower, gutting the structure completely. But the Aurors had already displaced, apparating back to Command.

In the tent city for the new recruits - of which there were none this year - the Aurors proved that they could fight dirty, using disillusionment and invisibility to great effect, along with silent casting and blades, both magical and conjured to inflict brutal casualties upon the Death Eaters that left the embattled Aurors covered in a thin film of gore. "Place!" the harsh whisper strangely loud as Death Eater curses ripped the tents apart. The Aurors were already gone, leaving a gift for the Death Eaters in the form of Devastators and Fragmentation Spheres, turning the entire expanse into a swirling firestorm, courtesy of Auror Nympandora Tonks.

Similar scenes of carnage were repeated upon the left flank, as the Death Eaters realized that they were facing a determined resistance, one that would probably fight to the death. The Death Eaters stopped singing and sought whatever cover they could get. The Death Eaters pressed their advance, cautious but determined to kill all those who opposed the will of the Dark Lord. The Death Eaters got smart however, pummeling the last free standing building in their immediate vicinity until they had reduced it to a ruin. Of the seven Aurors within, two were killed instantly, three others were stunned by the ferocity of the spell fire, and died when the building collapsed upon them. Only two managed to apparate to safety.

From the sixth floor of the Auror Command building, Moody watched the progress of the battle and gave a somewhat satisfied grunt. The effingus were stupid, but they learned from their mistakes quickly enough: They were advancing with caution into the massive pit that sheltered the obstacle course designed to test the physical toughness of potential recruits. He grinned, "Cast!"

A quaffle sized object was banished off the roof. In midflight, it fragmented. Hundreds of six inch long metal projectiles filled the air. They fell, in freefall for a moment, causing the Death Eaters to look up in confusion and surprise. The propulsion charms kicked in a split-second after that. Dozens of Death Eaters fell, perforated like abused pin cushions. Dozens more conjured shields that did certainly slow the projectiles, but did little to stop them. Screams filled the air. The roof team managed to unleash another two such projectiles, before massed hexes and curses forced them to abandon their position.

Their defense, however heroic, was not without its cost: a total of thirty had been killed, and each one lost was a significant proportion of their strength, against what looked like a thousand Death Eaters. The only defensive advantage they had left was the outer wall, and they made full use of it as Moody's artillery team lobbed a further three of the quaffle-flechettes. But the Effingus learned, conjuring solid barriers of stone and steel to deflect the assault. They were also massing spell fire against the battlements and the building itself, keeping any possible return fire to a minimum. It wouldn't be long before they were battering down the gates.

But they already were. "Where the hell are those reinforcements?" yelled an Auror. The answer didn't matter: a three foot span of wall blew out, taking the Auror in question with it.

"Broadsword! Broadsword!" shouted Amelia as she leaped of the walls, and landed lightly on the ground. The Aurors followed suit, retreating back to the crumbling building. Its upper levels were already ruined: Fires blazed and the top three floors had been gutted. The building itself was not going to take much more before it came crashing down atop them. She sighed, there was only one thing left to do.

The Aurors took up defensive positions inside the building, overturning tables, collapsing shelves and bookcases to create cover. Only thirty three were left, counting herself, Mad-Eye and Tonks. It was perfectly clear: This was their last stand. Another group of Aurors took up positions outside her office, "We'll hold them here as long as we can Ma'am," one of them said. She met the man's gaze and nodded. There was still hope. A small, desperate hope.

Both Aurors, the best of the DMLE watched as she tapped her desk twice and slid her wand into a small opening at the edge of the table. Everything glowed green for a long moment and then blue. She placed her hand in the same place, and muttered a string of Latin. An incantation. She was done in moments and spoke, softly, but clearly, her voice echoing throughout the building, "Broadsword active. Five minutes."

A panel in the floor of her office opened: It was akin to a three room apartment. Enough for thirty odd people to hide in for a few short hours. It would have to be enough. They could hear the chorus of battle, taking place down the corridor. "They're inside!" gasped someone, leaning against the wall, "They just blew the front of the building to pieces and charged in. We can't... we can't stop them, but we've got them holed up at the end of the corridor." That meant about thirty feet between the Death Eaters and them. He looked up, his face a mask of sadness, "There are twenty of us out there... but if they blow the doorway. She nodded, glancing at her watch, almost out of curiosity. It seemed that her assessment of thirty minutes was overly optimistic, by almost eleven minutes.

"Thank you, Auror Stamper." She nodded to the opening, "Get in."

Moody strode to the door of the office and peeked out. He ducked as a spell shattered the glass pane of the door, "Whoops," he muttered, and sent a plethora of curses back down the corridor.

"What are you doing?" asked Tonks.

"Someone's got to hold them off," said Moody, "If they get in here, they'll just stop the timer."

"If they know about it," countered Tonks.

"They know," said Amelia darkly, "They knew enough to bring down all the wards at once. Bringing down forty-six layers of wards is not something one can just "do," no matter how powerful."

Moody stomped out in to the corridor, spells flying from his wand at an astounding rate of three or four every second. He was singlehandedly laying down enough covering fire, allowing those closest to the front line of battle to disengage and fall back, strengthening the defense and perhaps more importantly, allowing the broadsword countdown to continue unabated.

She looked at the opening behind Amelia's desk, where another two had just disappeared in to, "Madame Bones," she said, quietly, "May I ask a favor of you?"

She blinked, "Go ahead, Miss Tonks."

"You know Remus Lupin?" the other, older woman nodded, "Tell him he was... is the Alpha. My Alpha. That I love him, and," she shrugged, nodding to the corridor where they could hear Mad-eye mocking the Death Eaters as he slew them like cattle.

"You can tell him yourself," replied Amelia, bringing up her wand. Too slow. She blinked, a startled expression crossing her features... "You..." she slumped over.

Tonks caught the falling Deputy Director of Magical Law Enforcement, "Hopkins! Wyatt! Stamper! Get her to safety!" They popped out of the safe room, and looked surprised at the sight of Tonks levitating their boss in their outstretched arms. She could understand, read the questions on their faces easily enough, "She has a daughter. You lot, have families."

She stepped out of the office and dived, dodging a curse before rolling back to her feet, blasting a Death Eater through a cabinet that had very nearly gotten the drop on Mad-Eye. He shouted over his shoulder, not taking his eyes of the pair of Death Eaters he was locked in mid duel with, "Surprised to see you here!"

She smiled, hexing another Death Eater to the afterlife, "Wouldn't miss this for all the tea in China!" Together, they stood, shoulder to shoulder, covering the retreat of the final fifteen or so Aurors into the Deputy Minister's office and the safe room. "How long?"

"Three, three and a half minutes," replied Moody, "You sure about this?" he asked her again. "I know about you and Lupin."

She nodded, "Can't leave you out here to do is alone."

"I can do this alone!" he growled. He had always maintained that he didn't need a partner. That he worked best alone. But having Tonks at his side for so long, it was... right... that she was beside him, with him, in this: Together at the end of it all. But at the same time it was so very wrong.

"I've got your back partner. Nothing's gonna change that," she replied, "Not like we need anyone else now do we?"

He grunted, "You'll do." The opening in the floor closed and sealed with a faint thrum as the wards over the safe room activated. Together, they tipped over the table and blocked the door. Beyond the office was the maze of cubicles that were the desks and offices of the other aurors, now mostly dead. "See you in the next life, partner."

"Likewise," she replied, as they armed the last handful of orbs and threw them out into the morass of black robes that had spread out, taking cover wherever they could find it. Clearly, they expected the Aurors to fight to the last. Alistair Moody and Nymphandora Tonks certainly did not intent to disappoint, "Fake left, and cut right?"

He nodded with a grim smile. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they pulverized the table that had sheltered them. Moody blew out the door, and its frame. A moment after that, the broken table was banished through the door. They charged out behind it, angling to the left. Spells rained upon the partners, but they moved, twisting and turning avoiding everything cast at them.

They had fought like a married couple, talked like best friends, protected each other like brother and sister. They had also flirted like teenagers. They moved in tandem, having spent years catching criminals, murderers and rapists together, having spent thousands of hours training and fighting, learning to anticipate each other, to trust each other with their lives. Moody slapped her on the shoulder and she dropped to a crouch, killing another Death Eater on their right while he eviscerated the offending caster on their left, firing over her back.

She rose and placed her hand on his chest. He took a step back. The killing curse flashed between, close enough to taste the miasma of death the bolt of green light had carried. She cast three blasting hexes, blowing Death Eater limbs in one direction, torsos and heads the other. He killed another with a well-placed cutting curse.

They turned, as if they were dancing a tango, him to the left, her to the right with astonishing ease for one with a wooden left and for the clumsiest Auror in the history of the Aurors. Four more Death Eaters went down in a blinding display of curses and hexes. They separated, obliterating ruined furniture, banishing it at high speed. She covered the floor in ice; he followed up with immolation spells. His flames turned ice to water; she electrified it, downing several more.

But even the best of dancers, can miss a step: The blasting curse tore a chunk out of a support column that peppered Tonks in the back and side like a massive shotgun round. She dropped. Moody adapted and improvised: He simply demolished the pillar, and brought the first floor of the building down on top of everyone, themselves included, but managed to snap apparate to her side and then pull them back to the office of the Deputy Director. The rubble would only keep them at bay for a few minutes at best. Already they could both hear them trying to blast their way through.

"Lost my wand... back there," she whispered as he lowered her into a sitting position, propped against what was left of a wall. He nodded, and flopped down next to her. She noted almost absently that he was bleeding in several places, "Piercing hexes?" They had some limited cover here - and there was nowhere left for them to run anyway.

He grunted. The real problem was the one that hit on the left side of his chest. He was quite sure he'd punctured a lung, "Won't be... long now," he ground out through clenched teeth. There was the sound of cascading rubble, shattering glass, breaking wood. Voices shouted to one another, loud, excited: They were through the impromptu barricade, their feet stomping on the debris littered ground.

They were close. "No," she agreed, "It won't." she pulled a Fragmentation Orb, "I saved, one. Should be painless, you know?"

A light flashed on Moody's belt, "Won't need it," he said quietly, "Ten seconds."

There was a sudden roaring sound, much like a tornado, as everything began to grow warm. Uncomfortably warm. There was no warning for the Death Eaters as the Fyndfire burst out of the ground, all across Auror Command. The Death Eaters may have screamed in fear, cried and tried to flee. Other sought to douse the living demonic flame with water, which only served to fan the flames that had escaped from hell to burn brighter and hotter.

Fragmentation Orbs normally have a three second countdown before they live up to their name. The last of the Fragmentation Orb never detonated, reduced to ash in the fraction of a moment it takes to blink one's eyes.

Hours later, the twenty odd survivors would open and slip out from the safe room hidden under disillusionment charms. They stood at ground zero of a wasteland. There were no burned out husks, no ruined buildings. Not even ash. Where Auror Command had once stood, was nothing but glass. From where they stood, they could see the muggles. They had surrounded the area, and it was no doubt a crime scene. The entry way to the safe room slid shut without a sound. She had no doubt that the Ministry had also been attacked. There was only one safe place left to go, "Apparate to Hogwarts."


	13. Chapter 72 - Across the Channel

A/N:

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

I'm taking creative liberty to blend fact (history) with creativity (fanfiction) in this chapter. I'm not out to insult, insinuate or imply anything about any nation, country, thing, person or individual.

Chapter 72

Across the Channel

Her parents had known better than to ask what it was that was consuming her, literally from the inside out. They had seen the medical reports; they knew what she had lost. The Veela within her would probably never forgive him, but then, the witch within her would never forget, never stop loving him. Attempts to reconcile the two had proven to be... difficult. She had broken the bond of The Veela that had bound them as a couple. The half bond, given that he was not of her kind or blood. But that was the Veela's bond. Her heart still yearned for him, and still wanted to be with him. Not here. Not at home in the south of France.

She went through the motions of living, but she was not really there. She needed him, more than she wanted to admit. When they had first met, almost two years before, she had seen just a little boy. That was what everyone had seen: The Boy Who Lived, walking the length of the Great Hall of Hogwarts to pointed fingers and whispers of hatred, disgust and jealousy. He was on the cusp of manhood when she first met him, because he didn't want the fame, and everything else that came with it.

He was no child. He had never been one. Pain had marred his childhood, she knew that. Tragedy had taken what little was left of his childhood from him, nearly taken his ability to love as well. What had happened to him in that place, that godforsaken graveyard had taken a boy and made a man of him. It had done something great, but for all the wrong reasons. It had nearly killed what was so quintessentially human, and Veela: The ability to love.

She'd nurtured that gentle spark, and made it a flame that burned with a heat and passion that rivaled Fyndfire. She'd done too well perhaps: It had burned them both. She stared out from the window, across the garden. A part of her knew where he would be, right this very moment. He would either be on the Hogwarts express alongside his Legion, or already in Hogsmeade, or Hogwarts.

She had followed the news of the struggle in England. She had read the newspapers. All of them. Used the contacts she still had "in country" to learn a great deal more: Gringotts, specifically Griphook, had kindly shared a great deal of information. She had celebrated the Legion's success at Grimmauld Place, as she had their rescue in Northumbria. She had lit a candle for each fallen Legionnaire, and said a prayer for each of them. Those candles would never stop burning. They were a reminder, one that she needed constantly of the choice she had made.

Everyone who knew Harry knew that he didn't want the fame, could have done without the fortune. How does one walk tall when you are famous for the murder of your parents and the accidental defeat of one of the greatest Dark Lords to ever stalk the shadows of the British Isles? She knew that he would have taken the loss of so many under his... leadership badly. She did not have to be close to him to feel his pain.

She admired him, everything she knew could not change that fact: The way he had befriended her, the way he had saved her sister from the Black Lake. The way he had charged into the maze, and somehow, despite what had happened in that graveyard, returned with the wand of Cedric Diggory, her boyfriend for only a few short months at the time, and perhaps most devastatingly of all: The mortal remains of his love. She had believed him from that very moment. The man who wanted none of his fame, none of the fortune, could not have concocted such a tale if his life had depended upon it.

Her parents of course, had been somewhat divided as to how to handle her. Her mother, being a Veela herself, knew of the situation her daughter was in, but there was nothing that she could. Time and perhaps a new love, or the return of the old, would be the best way to remedy the situation. But that remained out of reach for as long as her daughter pined for him. Her father of course, had wanted to take a more direct approach, and simply kill one Harry Potter for what her daughter had endured because of him. It was the father in him speaking, and it had taken quite a few hours to convince him of two things: Killing Harry Potter would probably send Fleur into the dreaded Veela Death Spiral. Secondly, if what Fleur had told them was true, it was more than likely that Harry Potter would kill him first.

Gabrielle Delacour should have been at school. But she was half veela like her sister and had chosen to stay at her sisters' side. It worked: Fleur tutored her sister and their mother helped. For some hours of the day at least, Fleur was the witch that they all remembered, the witch who had been a contender in the Triwizard Tournament, the witch who had called Harry Potter "mon amour" not so long ago.

The three Delacour women were taking a break from the morning's lesson about transfiguration when Appoline Delacour felt a shimmer in the wards. She frowned. It was a little early for Jean Pierre to be home for lunch. "Mama?" asked Gabrielle, "What is it?"

There was more than one presence coming up the path to their home. Something was not right. She drew her wand from the folds of her robes, "Fleur, stay here, and protect Gabrielle." She had barely left the room when a tremendous crack rang out, followed seconds later by the remains of the front door that went skidding down the hallway.

Fleur was suddenly alongside her mother, wand raised. The first person through the door wore long black robes and silver mask that hid all of their face, except for the mouth. She recognized that mask, and she froze. Humans have always had a primitive, almost primal fear of the dark, instilled into them during the earliest days of cavemen, who would huddle together around their campfires for warmth and protection. It was a similar, almost primal fear reaction to the silver mask. The sickly amber colored eyes bored into her and she froze.

The Death Eater raised a wand in its hand, "Avada Kedevra!"

The shriek and the bolt of death snapped her reverie, as she pulled her mother backwards a step, moving them both out of the line of fire - for the moment. The curse exploded, blackening the wall where it struck. Apolline Delacour stared in amazement as her daughter attacked.

Chained blasting curses followed by cutting charms leaped from her wand. Fleur was pleased to see that she had not lost any of her skill: The Death Eater went down, minus an arm and leg. Her follow up curse finished him off. "Where's papa?" she asked.

"I felt him," said her mother quietly, "He was with them." She was trembling, almost uncontrollably. Fleur recognized the signs: She had seen them in herself before, after the death of Cedric. "He... I cannot... feel him, anymore." Fleur sent another volley towards the front door. Her mother nodded, leaning back against the wall to support herself as the loss of her soul mate struck with devastating force. Appoline Delacour felt a shift in the magic around them, a feeling of power and control attaching itself to her mind. The wards, what was left of them, were now at her control. That only confirmed what she feared: Her husband was slain.

"We need to go," said Fleur quietly, nodding back towards Gabrielle, and the fireplace. Their only exit, if they could reach it without getting killed.

"Non," said her mother quietly, "You, need to go. Both of you. Take Gabrielle and go." She drew her wand, "Accio!" she called. There was the sound of shattering wood, a pair of trunks flew down the stairs, railroading to Death Eaters before they came to a halt next to her. They shrank until they fit in the palm of her hand, like miniatures for a child's doll house, "Everything you will need," said Apoline Delacour, "You both need." She seemed amused, but neither of her daughters was fooled: They could see the pain in her eyes and soul. "You call Harry Potter, your love. Papa and I," she took a breath and gestured towards the front parlor of their home, "planned for the worst."

"Mama, non!" protested Fleur. She knew what her mother was planning, "You cannot..." Both witches ducked as another killing curse smashed in to the wall.

"I must!" replied her mother, "It is not only to avenge your father, but to make sure that my children escape, that our bloodline lives!" together, the two witches had reduced much of the hallway and front door of their home to a broken ruin. Though they continued to argue for several minutes there was no changing Appoline's mind, "I have lost virtually everything today. At least I can ensure that my children survive." She pushed the shrunken trunks into Fleur's pocket, and hugged them both for a moment, "Je taime, mes enfants."

She charged, killing two Death Eaters with as many curses, and then diving behind cover. "Go!" she screamed.

"Not without mama!" it was Gabrielle, her cry cutting through the carnage and chaos of the moment, "Not without mama!" She struggled but Fleur had her arm in a vice like grip, and dragged her backwards, away from their mother, past the dining room, towards the kitchen where they could escape.

Dragging a protesting Gabrielle, Fleur bought a shield to bear deflecting several curses back at their casters. She continued to summon objects and conjure shields against the incoming tide of spells. She did not hesitate, killing two Death Eaters who were supposed to be guarding the rear of the building. She cautiously peeked out the door that lead to the gardens and immediately ducked back in as a volley of curses shattered the door and its frame.

A quick repair charm had the door back in place. A locking charm and few other charms she'd learned from Gringotts would let the simple wooden door stand up to some abuse. She crossed the flagstone kitchen floor in four strides and grabbed the small green pot from the mantle over the fireplace. Fleur threw a fistful of Floo powder, only for the flames to sputter and extinguish. "Merde!" gathering Gabrielle in her arms, she flickered for a moment and reappeared. No Floo. No apparation. They were trapped.

She risked a glance back down the corridor they had just traveled. Apoline had fallen back under the press of the enemy, sheltering in the dining room now, trading spells with yet another Death Eater. Focusing her magic she raised her wand, "Exuro is pessum!"

The flame was hard to control, it warred with her for its freedom, but with a shrill scream she mastered it. It took form, sat back upon its haunches and lunged forward. It swept past her mother, who simply stared in amazement as the flaming wolf broke apart, seven tendrils of flame launching out to a separate Death Eater.

She turned and ran, their screams echoing in her ears as the flame punched into their chests and began to burn them alive from within. She stumbled, twice, and was nearly taken off her feet by a third curse. Fleur ran forward, grabbing her mother under the arms, dragging her backwards as the Fyndfire finished its grizzly task and turned its attention upon more of the Death Eaters storming through the house.

"They have wards up, and there is no escape."

"You have a means of escape," coughed her mother. She was bleeding, badly. "Call the Potter Elves… If the Death Eaters missed something in their wards, the elves will find it." She coughed, and swallowed painfully.

"He would not have overlooked something so simple!" It was strange, to hear them arguing about such things - her love life in point of fact - while Fleur side stepped two maroon colored curses, and fired back with dark purple, bone breaking curses.

"He would not," agreed Apoline, "Unless on purpose: You told me what he said, that you and your family would always have sanctuary within Potter Manor. Whatever he may be, he is a man of honor!" She held her left arm across her chest, breathing heavily. Only the dark blue, almost purple of her robes hid the true extent of the wound: Her limited knowledge of healing spells had slowed the blood loss, but done little more than that. "He will honor his offer of sanctuary."

"Dobby! Winky!" There was no answer, no pop of apparating house elf. She cursed and cast again, this time obliterating a Death Eater with a blasting curse that turned him to a very fine, bloody mist.

One of the kitchen windows shattered. To her credit, Appoline Delacour blasted the first to try and climb through with a stream of flame. It fell backwards screaming in agony, rolling on the ground where it continued to burn until it finally died an agonizing death, some thirty seconds later. The second trying to breach the kitchen window met Gabrielle Delacour's Reductor curse and flopped dead with most of his chest blown away, hanging in the window.

Their lives were perhaps measured in minutes. Explosions rocked the Delacour home. The Effingus, and the Death Eaters themselves were mediocre wizards for the most part - barring a few exceptions such as Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy and several others. Given that three women had held them off for so long it was no surprise that the forces of Lord Voldemort suddenly found themselves coming under attack from the rear.

The French Ministry of Magic had long boasted one of the finest and arguably most militaristic of all Magical Police forces in existence. And small wonder, given their two hundred years of history which had seen more than a dozen major wars. Add to that that Grindenwald had made himself known to the muggle world as "Adolf Hitler" and perpetrated the atrocities and genocide known around the world as the Holocaust, the French Ministry had vowed that they would never bow or be cowed again. They were the only Ministry of Magic that was covertly opposing Voldemort. It was this resistance that had brought the wrath of the Death Eaters upon the magical world of France: The Delacours were but one of a dozen prominent wizarding families targeted.

The fact that Fleur Delacour had been the lover of Harry James Potter was simply icing on the cake for Voldemort, and the Dark Lord had wondered if it would be worth trying to capture the half veela, just to torment Potter further. The only reason Voldemort had held off on the scheme was that, if things went according to plan, Harry would already be dead. The Dark Lord knew that the French Ministry would be forced to react to the attacks in the order that they occurred. Indeed, the twelve homes had all been struck within ten minutes of each other, limiting the number of Aurors able to respond to the Delacour attack, number 12 on the target list.

And Voldemort had no shortage of manpower.

The response team of Aurors was a hastily cobbled together force of whoever was left standing and more importantly, capable of fighting after having been stretched in too many directions. As it was, their casualties stood on dozens dead, and hundreds injured, many of whom would be unable to return to duty for several months - if ever.

It was one sided, but the Aurors had the advantage of surprise, which they used to devastating effect, harvesting the opposition mercilessly as they employed a plethora of magical artifacts, ranging from Fragmentation Orbs and Detonation Spheres to some truly French inventions. "Percez mort" allowed the caster to fire cast anywhere between one and thirty piercing hexes in a matter of seconds. It had allowed the wizarding French to fight alongside their muggle brethren in every major war since the days of Napoleon. The French Aurors, culled the Death Eaters, slaughtering dozens in mere moment as their wands fanned left to right across the blood soaked ground that had once been an award winning garden across Magical Europe.

The Aurors also had the small advantage of knowing what to expect: A merciless foe that would not take prisoners, and expected no quarter in return. One that would enshroud the target building to ensure any witch or wizard trapped within would have no way of escape. "Lancez!"

The projectile leaped from its almost crude launching stand and shrieked its way across the lawn. One would have to be excused for mistaking it for a homemade bottle rocket. But then again, that was precisely what it was: A bottle rocket, to deliver a ward buster.

Magical wards can be cast on to buildings of all kinds, and even be cast upon smaller items including clothing or objects as small as a pen. Most homes have wards that are cast into the materials that compose the building opposed to actual ward stones. This is in part due to the prohibitive cost of the ward stones themselves, which remain a Goblin monopoly. Wizards have never come close to successfully duplicating the magic, but that is in part due to a lack of trying on the part of many, and a lack of funding for those who keep trying.

Few homes and buildings have true ward schemes in place. Most of them tend to be ancient structures where the ward scheme is not an add-on, but are built in the very foundations of the structure. Hogwarts would be one such example. Other examples would be the stately manor homes such as those of the long established pureblood families like the Malfoys and Lestranges, and of course, Potter Manor where Harry had spent millions to ensure that the protections would be unmatched.

Without proper wardstones, disrupting a scheme of wards is a relatively simple process. At the most basic level, wards are essentially magical energy shields that prevent certain things from occurring. Anti-Apparition wards block the passage of anyone attempting to apparate and so forth. More complicated wards can assess the intent of an individual approaching a ward scheme and react accordingly. However, all ward schemes, however complicated or simple have a single flaw: They can be drained - a time consuming process at best - or simply overpowered. Ward Busters fall in to the later, delivering a payload of overcharged magical crystals to overcharge and collapse wards, making them ideal for temporary wards. Needless to say, any ward scheme tied to one or more ward stones could absorb the influx of energy, depending on the capacity of the stone thus strengthening the wards as opposed to breaking them. Hence why ward busters are rarely deployed against heavily fortified targets as the aforementioned examples: The amount of energy required to overpower the wards at Hogwarts would probably be sufficient to power every muggle electronic device in Britain for a week long nationwide party.

In this case however, the Death Eaters wards were meant to be short term only. They shorted out within seconds of the crystals discharging their magic in a flare of blinding light. Sure enough, the wards collapsed upon themselves with a muted thunderclap. Their attention split, the Death Eaters broke in two groups. The first was still attempting to storm the Delacour home. The second turned, like a cornered wolverine, and lashed out at the Aurors. The grass would one day grow back, but it would not be green. It would grow back a deep burgundy in color, to mark the slaughter which took place there. But that would be years after nearly everyone in this account would be deceased.

The two house elves appeared with a pop, "Ms. Delacour," said Dobby.

"Dobby," replied the witch, "Cover!" the house elf dropped to its knees, and a single Death Eater rocketed down the passageway, back towards the front door. Hopefully, whatever it collided with would kill it, she thought savagely.

It was perhaps the strangest thing many a Death Eater had ever seen: Witches and House Elves fighting side by side. Those moments of sheer incredulity cost the Death Eaters nearly a dozen of their number as they all stopped and stared, their simple minds quite literally unable to cope with the sight of the two doing battle side by side.

During the briefest of lulls in the fighting, she attempted to apparate, only to find that the wards were back up. She cursed. They should have left the moment both elves had shown up. "The elves," coughed Appoline, "Their magic is different from that of wizards as that of our blood is different from both of theirs. They can take you through the wards!"

"I am not…" the sleep spell was fired at such close range, that there was no avoiding it. There had been no reason to expect it either. Gabrielle slumped over. It would only last a few minutes at most. Enough for them to die or force her eldest daughter to do the right thing and save her sister, "Mother!" she exclaimed, "You put her to… sleep?"

She nodded, "I know the closeness of the bond between you. You would kill, and kill without hesitation to protect her. You have already done so. Now take what you have won! Go!" there was a fire blazing in her eyes, "I will deal with these vermin!"

"Dobby, take Gabrielle," said Fleur softly, "I will go with Winky."

She could understand the pain that was already beginning to eat at her mother. She could understand it because she felt it herself, every day since she had cut herself off from him. She didn't want to say his name, because every time it brought everything back with crystal clarity, and a certain diamond hardness of undeniable fact: She had hurt him, perhaps unimaginably. Now, they were taking a chance, and she was risking more than her own life in this. If he had reconfigured the wards, then there was no doubt that they would reduce them both to the consistency of freshly ground beef.

Her eyes never left those of her mother, even as Winky wrapped her hand in Fleur's. Fleur screamed in pain, a moment before she disapparated. Standing behind her was a Death Eater with its wand raised. Appoline killed it with a cone of flame and struggled to her feet. There was only one thing left for her to do. She pointed her wand at the floor, she spoke the long string of latin with a practiced ease and had barely uttered the last syllable when she was blasted off her feet. She flew backwards, wand flying from her outstretched hand. She closed her eyes and braced herself. She had long known that getting blasted off one's feet was nothing compared to the pain that accompanied hitting the ground.

She landed upon her back, and a distant part of her mind registered the near overwhelming pain. Her shoulder was certainly dislocated, her ribs were cracked if not broken - quite possibly shattered to pieces. She lay there, barely able to feel anything at all. She could not even lift her head. She drew upon the last reserves of her strength and managed to turn her head to the side, in time to see the booted feet of a Death Eater an inch from her face.

She struggled to breath, capable of tasting the blood in the back of her throat. She gagged, coughing blood, sending tendrils of agony shooting through her broken form. She struggled to rise but found that no even an iron will and determination could make shattered bone and broken muscles work. "I'm coming mon amour," she though quietly as the ground beneath her groaned and fractured.

The cracks in the floor radiated outward from her body, radiating up the walls as the noise of stone crumbling filled the air. Her eyelids slid slowly shut. She could feel the entire house shaking. Some of the Death Eaters yelled in alarm, while several apparated away. Most, simply stood there in slack jawed incomprehension as the ground gave a mighty creak.

Her final incantation had removed the preservation spells that had actually kept the Delacour Home standing for over a hundred years. Without the magic, the house began to collapse as surely as a house of cards toppling in the slightest of breezes. Appoline Delacour, mother of Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour, wife of the late Jean-Marc Delacour, had breathed her last. She took hold of her husband's outstretched hand and together they set off upon the next great adventure as the house collapsed upon her mortal remains.

Suffice to say that the first of September had not been a good day for much of Wizarding Britain: As it stood, over two thirds of the Aurors on active duty had been slain, the Hogwarts Express, and Auror Command had been obliterated. The Ministry of Magic had been the target of a series of surgical strikes that had had left the Minister for Magic, the Deputy Minister, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement dead in their offices, along with the heads of another half dozen departments including Finance, Magical Transport, Health and Family and Social Services.

The assassinations had been carried out moments before the Ministry itself had been assaulted by the Death Eaters. This was where the vast majority of Auror casualties had been sustained. It has to be said that they fought the Death Eaters to a standstill, confining the horrors of war to the Atrium. There were tales of courage and heroism, and it seemed that new heroes were born in the crucible of combat. The fact of the matter remained: The Ministry had been soundly beaten, and had won a phyrric victory at best.

Voldemort's master plan had failed to kill Harry Potter, much to his consternation, and not for the first time did the Dark Lord wonder if anything could actually kill him. The Ministry was reeling from the series of punishing blows and near complete decapitation of its leadership. The stage was nearly set, and it would take some time to move the last of the pieces in to place. Patience was a virtue, and it was one Voldemort had in spades when it suited him.

On quite literally the other side of the country, Harry Potter and the Legion stood watch over the road from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts until the carriages had delivered the last of the students to survive the assault upon the Hogwarts Express. It was the first time in memory that students had actually arrived at the castle in time for lunch as opposed to dinner.

They had all learned of the nationwide Death Eater attacks over the course of the morning and early afternoon. As much as Harry had wanted to lead the Legion in to battle, cooler heads had prevailed and convinced him, that Hogwarts was certain would feel Voldemort's wrath. They were wrong. There was no attack upon the castle or the village of Hogsmeade. That only meant that Voldemort had something else in mind. The question was what? They had no idea but Dobby's arrival with a short message had shattered Harry's composure, "You're... sure?"

The hose elf stared at Harry, and nodded, "Tis a shock, but your orders stood. I and Winky were able to get them to safety. Fleur was injured but she will recover. She is resting now. Their parents, her father had already passed by the time we were called. Her mother brought the entire house down upon herself and the Death Eaters. No survivors."

"Thank you Dobby. Dismissed."

The Legion had proved its worth, and as far as Harry was concerned swelled their ranks with even more students. Almost every student on the Hogwarts Express that autumn day would stand and fight against Voldemort, including the Slytherins who had very nearly shared the fate of the various "half bloods" and "filth" that were supposed to die. That in itself was a significant occurrence but even more so was the fact that children were the target of the attack. It had galvanized much of the student body: Those that had fought or simply been there knew where they stood now. Those that had not been there were viewed with universal suspicion - not that Harry was concerned. He tapped his ring with his finger and sent a message to his friends. Not even having had a chance to set foot in to the castle, he walked down to Hogsmeade and took the Floo home. There were wounded that he had to check on, dead that he needed to see, and someone that he wanted to do a whole lot more than just see.

He had always hoped that one day she would take up his offer, and come back and let them rebuild their life together. He had known that all he ever had was hope. Quite possibly a fool's hope. Now that she was back in his house however, he knew one thing: Not like this. He had wanted her back. But not like this. It was almost as if Voldermort was trying to push together he mused darkly as he stepped from the fireplace in to his home. He braced himself quietly and walked the short distance to the infirmary.

The beds were occupied but a quick count told him that several who should have been there, were not there. Not Fleur and Gabrielle. They were in a private room. Several had died en route, or even "on the table" to co-opt a muggle expression. Though his instincts screamed for him to check on Fleur first, he clamped it down. Given the way she had reacted to his presence the last time they were in the same room together, the last thing he wanted was to occupy a bed in his own infirmary. He scanned the infirmary once more, this time singling out the single witch standing with a chart in her hand, "Excuse me miss," he said quietly.

"What?" she snapped without looking up from her chart.

"I just want to know the numbers,"

"And why should I..." she looked up from her chart and fell silent for a moment, "I'm sorry Mr. Potter,"

"That's your first mistake," he interrupted smoothly, "I can understand the pressure your under, but my name is Harry. Not "mister" anything." In that one sentence, he had defused the tension between them and put her completely at ease with him, "How bad is it?"

She nodded, "Harry, eighteen dead, twenty-six with severe injuries. Forty nine more walking wounded, and the professors made it." she handed him a slip of parchment and he closed his eyes, holding in the conflicting emotions of grief that another dozen plus had been slain, and relief that the wounded would fight again. The power of magic in the hands and claws of the best healers the country knew would take care of that. "If you'd have a seat, we can take a look at those for you."

He looked down and noticed for the first time the blood that covered him, "Ah... it's not mine."

"With that much blood," she replied, "Some of it is bound to be yours. Now sit!"

"Yes Ma'am," he said meekly as he collapsed on to the conjured chair and began to strip off his armour. That was the moment the pain hit him, radiating through every muscle, bone and nerve. His armor had saved him any real injury, but he still needed several doses of different potions to reduce the swelling and bruising as well replenish some blood loss. It only took several minutes before he was allowed to leave the infirmary.

He crossed the hallway, and stood outside the door to what was her room. He knew exactly what he wanted, knew what he wanted to do. But he couldn't bring himself to open the door and confront what lay within. Part of him was scared, what would happen if she left him again. The pain had never really gone away, and it made its presence felt with astounding regularity, at strange and random moments that could shatter a good mood and generally ruin any day. It was the reason why his birthday had been a quiet, sombre one where there had been no celebration.

But the woman who had caused him so much pain, yet given him so much love was less than ten feet away. The only thing separating them was a single pane of solid English oak. He knocked quietly, but there was no answer. He knocked again but only tomb like silence answered, "Aln," he though.

It had been no small feat of magic that had given life - after a fashion - to the manor house. Indeed, it had taken the Goblins a better part of a year to cast the enchantment. "Harry," the manor itself greeted him politely, "I presume that you wish to know the conditions of the occupants." The fact that Alnwick - Aln for short - had been modeled upon Harry's own personality and had much of the wizard's memory meant that a conversation between the two was akin to a conversation between Harry and Harry. "Fleur and her younger sister are both fast asleep. Her injuries were life threatening, but were downgraded to serious just a short while ago. She's in a medical coma so that her body can heal without the mental trauma of the pain. She will sleep for a few hours yet. Gabrielle, is taking the death of her parents hard, and it's a case of physical exhaustion. The mental trauma... will take time to heal."

He nodded and left, making his way across the Manor to an empty room, chosen at random. He slipped in to his own room. He didn't even bother removing his boots, and simply collapsed atop his bed, and let the darkness claim him, without even bothering to close the door.


	14. Chapter 73 - Wisdom From Beyond

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Honestly, I've gone seven rounds with this chapter, it still pisses me off. I'm still not happy with it. It just doesn't feel right, but I can't devote any more time to being stuck here…..

Chapter 73

Wisdom From Beyond

Hermione Granger had been described by more than witch or wizard to be "the brightest witch of her age." Sirius Black had said so, Remus Lupin, last of the Marauders had said so. Many others had believed that her knowledge would one day surpass that of even the great Albus Dumbledore. Those that knew her however, would have agreed that her intelligence was only a portion of who she really was. They would remember a friend, a witch who was kind, generous, loyal, loving. Her compassion knew no bounds or limits. She made no distinction between different magical races as all were equal in her eyes. Fleur would have been one of the first to admit that the rest of the world only saw a witch with a genius level intellect - something which scared many of them.

While the dead do not and cannot interfere in the affairs of the living, it has not prevented them from communicating with the living. Indeed, the ghosts of Hogwarts are just one example of the dead interacting directly with the living. For those who had not opted to stay behind as ghosts, they could communicate with those who were near death with ease. It was such an opportunity that Hermione had been waiting for, having watched the battle from a place beyond time and space as we know it. It is not quite purgatory, not quite a place for lost souls, neither is in heaven and hell. The most accurate description would be to call it a "place between all the realms, known and forgotten."

Fleur only found herself there, given the severity of her wounds. The last thing she truly remembered was the sound, the feeling of her bones actually breaking as the curse collided with her lower back, shattering a number of her ribs and puncturing a lung. The wounds could have killed her, and had only failed to do so thanks to Winky who had shifted their destination from arriving in the Travel Room, to the Infirmary directly. Needless to say, the medical staff had quickly induced a coma to block most of the pain while they removed the shattered bones to re-grow them. The rest of her injuries were not as severe but there were a number of them that they also took the liberty of beginning to heal.

While magic is capable of working many miracles that would leave even the most cutting edge and advanced of modern medicine green with envy, the healing arts were something of a double edged sword: Heal too much too quickly and the patient could go in to shock, or worse yet suffer a backlash effect caused by too much foreign magic, be it spell or potion that could destabilize their magical core. It was the main reason why even St. Mungo's had wards full of patients at any given time as many patients required multiple rounds of healing before they could be discharged, including time under observation to ensure that there were adverse side effects to the treatments themselves. Indeed, it was the main reason why Mad Eye Moody had lived much of his life with a prosthetic leg: His body and his magic had refused to accept both the potions and magic to regrow his leg.

To the real world, Fleur was in a coma. In the magical world her body was in a coma, but her mind was fully awake and aware. She was conscious of this fact given that she was standing along the shores of what appeared to be the Black Lake, on the grounds of Hogwarts itself. The sun shone down and she could feel the warmth of its touch upon her skin. She could feel the grass between her toes and her robes were a simple greyish white. Her long tresses of honey gold hair were pulled back in a simple ponytail, but that was nothing compared to the person standing before her: Hermione Jane Granger, "Hello Fleur."

To say that Fleur was completely speechless would have been the understatement of the decade. She stared at the young witch, trying to process, everything, "I know you have questions, but before we go any further, yes you are still alive. Second, the healers put you to sleep so that you could rest while they healed your injuries. Third," she paused having ticked off her points on her fingers, "This is real and you are not hallucinating. Fourth, I am Hermione, the same Hermione you knew, or rather know." She smiled, "It gets a little confusing being well… dead and all. But you can trust me: It was a banishing charm that revealed the strength of the walls of Hogwarts about two years ago."

Fleur nodded warily, "More than one person, saw and can recall that particular incident. Perhaps you have something else that could convince me?"

"The dead can watch the living, though we cannot interfere in your affairs – at least directly. There was a great deal of firewhiskey consumed in the residence after the events of the third task. That, and you and Harry didn't as much as date, as fall together."

Fleur looked more than a little stricken at the thought of Hermione having seen… well… everything. The brown haired witch laughed. It sounded just like the laugh she remembered, "We can see, does not mean we choose to see Fleur. Some things, we should never see at all. But I did see enough to know that you two completed each other."

"Then you also know, what being complete has cost me."

"Aimee, and now your parents," replied Hermione, "And they are jus the most recent victims of this war. The squibs continue to die. The muggles have certainly not felt the last of Voldemort' s hatred for them. But, I'm not here to convince you to do or say anything you don't want to do. I'm just here, to ask you one question: Would you listen to the opinion of someone you gave life to?"

"Non...c'est impossible," whispered Fleur, "Aimee?" her voice trembled, whether in fear or anticipation, even Fleur herself could not really say.

"Bonjour mama." She seemed to step out from Hermione's shadow and the look of longing in the young girls' eyes was all it took to break Fleur's resistance as she ran forward and swept the child up in a hug. There was the high pitched squeal of laughter as Fleur spun her daughter around in a circle before pulling her close and simply holding her tight.

"How is this..." she whispered, in to her daughter's hair, "I...I... Je suis..."

"Death himself, walks hand in hand with Destiny," replied Aimee, "Mama, I don't have much time. But you must, listen to me, si'lvous plait."

Fleur knelt down, staring in to the eyes of her daughter, the child she should have given birth to, and raised, who was now beyond her reach. She was four, or five years old. Shoulder length deep golden hair like her mother, but with her father's striking emerald eyes. It seemed that she had inherited the best of both of them. If only, she didn't look so serious. The expression just did not suit the countenance of any four year child. "Mama, you did not deserve what happened," Aimee smiled, "I didn't deserve what happened to me, but to blame Papa, my Papa," she emphasized, "is not fair to him. He needs you, just as you need him. I have watched both of you. And all you have done is suffer alone in the darkness for what happened to me."

Fleur shook her head, "you must know what I am ma petit, just as you probably would… are… Veela… even half Veela…"

"Ma mere, you are still human, and so you must understand that you are human as well as Veela, and that you have always been more human than Veela. It is not easy for our kind, but you made a choice. It is not fair that you punish him, or punish yourself."

"Listen to her Fleur," whispered Hermione from the side, "She's right. What has happened, happened and there is no understanding or explaining it. But you've pushed away the one person who would help you. If only you'd let him."

"If he had helped me, been there for me, as he should have been…" Fleur began bitterly, "I would almost be a mother." She still hadn't let go of Aimee, "I would…"

"Be complete?" whispered Aimee, "I know what the Death Eaters took from you mama. I know. I can understand, and feel your pain. But you have forgotten something important, that there are others ways." Fleur's gaze asked the question that her daughter already had the answer to, "Adoption."

"Do you think that Harry, would for an instant look down upon any child that wasn't directly his own flesh and blood? He probably considered it, but with you gone," Hermione shrugged, "He had no reason to think any further on it. But I know him, and you know him better than I do: He would welcome any child, and take a while to get used to them but it would not take long before they call him "daddy."" She smiled and for a moment there was a trace of the tongue in cheek Hermione that Fleur had known for so short a while, "He is Harry James Potter after all." Fleur felt something shift within her, not really within her, but more to do with the animalistic Veela side of her.

The downward spiral for a Veela was often a one way trip from which there was no recovery. Any man however can enter a similar downward spiral. Harry and Fleur's situation was a complicated one, given that they had arrested the momentum of the other when together. Their mutual friends – The Legion Core – had stayed in touch with her, as she had charted and followed the events of the British Wizarding World. Hear dual nature had made it extraordinary difficult to cope, even after she had invoked the magic of her Veela blood and shattered the bond. Ironically, shattering the bond had set her back on her downward spiral. Harry had used the pain of the moment to push himself onwards, making a silent promise to himself, those few months ago, on that London street that he would do his best to ensure nobody else would suffer as he had, as Fleur had. In many ways, it was his anger and rage that sustained him, his hatred of everything that Voldemort, Dumbledore, their followers and to a lesser extent, the Ministry had done to screw up his life. In truth, Harry had not given a single thought to what he would do once his war was over.

"His choice cost you Aimee," said Hermione, "But he saved you. And he never knew what happened while you were held captive. Nobody but you knows what truly happened. You, never told him, but he is no fool. He can guess. And he has guessed correctly."

"You tore apart his life when you left him mama," said Aimee, "and I would not have lived long… if I had lived at all through what they had done to you."

Fleur sat in quiet contemplation of everything she had heard, from both Hermione and Aimee in a companionable silence. Wordlessly, the mother and daughter had shifted so that Aimee was sitting on Fleur's lap, arms wrapped around her mothers' neck as she was gently rocked back and forth. The solution was less than ideal, and far from perfect. But did it give her a chance at the happiness, the means to complete her life, in many ways, give it meaning, the only question that remained was one that she had no way of answering: Would Harry be glad to see her? More specifically, could he stand the sight of her, know what she had done?

She didn't have the answers, perhaps Hermione… she looked around and to her surprise, found that Hermione was gone. Just gone, "She's ok mama," whispered Aimee, "She left us alone. So it's just us now. Perfect, non?"

"It's… almost perfect," whispered Fleur, "If only your father could be here." For the first time, the thought of Harry brought only a sense of pain, of loneliness. That was in itself, enough to make her smile, to believe that there was hope: The spear of hatred that normally accompanied such thoughts did not lance and make her forget her pain.

There is no halting the inexorable march of time, but within that twilight realm, between sleep and wakefulness, between life and death, perhaps time slows its march to a pitiful crawl, giving mother and daughter time together that they could never have in the real world. It was time that Fleur would treasure greatly for the rest of her life, no matter what other trials, tribulations, happiness and sadness would grace her life. They did what mothers and children did together, playing "house," having a tea party, chased each other a playground, rode the swings and built sand castles along the beach. They spent what felt like days, if not weeks or even months. But no happiness can truly last forever.

"Mama," said Aimee, "I have… to go."

"D'accord ma Cherie," she replied. They exchanged a final hug, and Fleur found herself unwilling to let go, simply, somehow knowing that after this, she would never see her daughter in this life again. But she finally let go of her daughter who began to walk across the playground. Fleur contended herself to watch as her daughter began to fade away, becoming a shadow that eventually faded away completely. A sigh escaped her, "Au revoir."

Left alone, she contemplated the setting sun in the distance for a while only turning her attention to the sound of footsteps, someone approaching across the grass, "Time for you to go Fleur," said Hermione.

"I suppose so," she agreed, "How do I…. leave?"

"Just close your eyes. You'll wake up where you need to be," replied Hermione, staring at the sunset.

"Can I just ask," Fleur asked suddenly, "What is this place?"

"It is a place where the dead and living can meet: In the mind of one who has come closest to death, or died and brought back to life." Hermione smiled, "A simpler answer would be that this is all in your head. And no, that doesn't make it any less real. I know you're wondering if this is real or a dream. Ask Harry. Ask him about going forwards when being stuck in neutral is a nice place to be. He'll know what it means."

"Hermione… merci, pour… pour," Fleur gestured, trying to find the right words, and came up blank.

"You're welcome. Now go. The dead and the living shouldn't linger too long together."

Fleur nodded and lay back upon the grass. This place was quiet and peaceful. There was no war, no death, and no carnage. It was everything the world should be. But then, perhaps with Harry, with the Legion, she could help build such a world. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun, a tingling sensation in her fingers and toes, and fell asleep. Her last thought was that perhaps, she could build a life in such a world, with Harry.

She awoke, and sat up, very slowly. her movements were stiff and jerky. She breathed a sigh of relief as Gabrielle slept, sprawled out on the bed next to her. Quietly, she slipped from beneath the sheets and made her way to a small table. There was food under warming charms which she ignored, reaching for the butterbeer instead. The bottle was still cool to the touch, though dripping slightly with condensation. "I have done so much wrong," she thought, "Perhaps... I have to make it right, if he will let me."

Unsurprisingly, the layout of the manor had not changed. But then, it shouldn't have changed at all. She found that she could wind her way through the maze like interior with ease. She was searching for him, and had quickly realized that she had no idea where he was as she wandered farther in to a wing of the mansion she had never been to. Something, told her that he was here, in this wing, fifth room on left side of the corridor. True, the bond between them was broken, but there was still a tendril of magic, that was almost lost amidst the ambient background magic. But she clung to that strand with both hands. In many ways, it was her lifeline.

To her complete surprise, she found the room right where magic told her it would be, and there was no mistaking the prostrate form lying atop the bed. He had somehow pulled a blanket partly over himself. But there was no mistaking his wargear. She knew the equipment almost as intimately as she knew, had known their bearer.

He twitched in his sleep, hand curling and becoming almost claw like as he dragged them along the mattress. She sighed as he twitched and rolled over. She recognized the signs, that a nightmare had a vice like grip upon him. He was a deep sleeper in many ways, and there had been very little she could do, but hold him and comfort him. Her touch had always lessened the pain before. She hesitated, standing in the doorway watching him some more.

He had already been through so much. He was not even twenty years old, but he had been on the receiving end of pain and abuse for his whole life. The Dursleys, then the events of the Philosopher's Stone, then the Chamber of Secrets, then the debacle involving Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. The Triwizard, Hermione, and then Aimee, "Dieu," she whispered. He has bleed and suffered for a cause, for a war that was never truly his own - at least until he had been forced to make it his own. It was a war, she realized that he fought even now, in his sleep.

She still didn't understand it, understand him. How it was that someone who had been through so much had such an incredible capacity for kindness, willing to help an in need with compassion and understanding and above all that a willingness to take on burden that were placed upon him. In so many ways, he would have, could still be... was a perfect father. But for all the good he could and did do, it seemed that he had forgotten what it was like to have someone else do those things for him, to him for any reason. It was an epiphany: Harry Potter feared it. And who could blame him?

The bed creaked, breaking her train of thought as she stared at him. He was deeply asleep, trashing in the throes of something... calling it a dream would be a lie, but calling it a nightmare would be a kindness. It gripped him with a savage ferocity as he rolled over, on to his back, an arm folded over his head and face. He jerked from invisible blows, the sound of tearing fabric as his nails ripped through the sheets, clenching them in a white knuckled fist. For the first time, sound escaped him, syllables and fragments, "No... No... so many... too ...young... fight... me... should be me..."

As she watched, he arched his mouth wide in a silent scream of agony. She crossed the threshold, shut the door behind her and sat next to him. She ran her fingers down his face, from his forehead, down his cheek, "'Mione," his voiced seemed to have cracked. It came out, almost a croak, "Forgive me." Fleur stiffened at that name, "I'm sorry... so... sorry..." he was sleep talking, "Me... not you. Me."

Suddenly, whatever it was that haunted him and tormented his sleep released him, apparently satisfied that it had made Harry James Potter suffer sufficiently for one night. He lay still for a moment, then turned on to his side, facing her, right arm outstretched, as his right left hand groped across the bed in search of something that was not there. "Fleur..." it was the last word he spoke as his hand settled on to the emptiness of the bed, making a final, almost pathetic twitch, grasping in mid-air.

A tear rolled down her cheek. His life had been one of pain interspersed with a few moments of joy and happiness, not the other way round, as it should be. The memory came back, something she had said, and something that Harry and Fleur had both agreed to on a different night, not so long ago: There was no going back. But then, had they ever gone backwards? Hermione's last words took on a new meaning. Had they just been stuck in neutral together these past few months spent apart?

She took his hand, and for a moment, everything was suddenly alright with the world, or at least, their world. She felt his hand tighten its hold upon hers. He may have been asleep, unable to consciously process that she was with him but the request was unmistakable. She slipped her hand from his, drew her legs on to the bed, under the covers and stretched out next to him. Her head rested comfortably on the pillow while his arm seemed to support her neck. She took his hand in both of hers and like any person lost in sleep, and perhaps weaving a path between dreams, he did the most natural thing in the world; leaning back against the source of warmth like a cat purring with arched back against a heater on a chilly winter morning. There was no resistance as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled them close together.

It was like, they had never been apart. They still, fit together, perfectly. The past was the past, and the immediate present would be her greatest challenge. The future would have to wait.

Hours later, he woke and stretched ever so slightly. He didn't recall taking off his glasses, but in all fairness, he did not really recall having gone to sleep either. He'd only meant to take a nap and then head back to Hogwarts, and then come back to sort... manages... arrange...resolve the whole situation with Fleur.

His eyes snapped open. Partly because of the warm body snuggled against him, more because he recognized that maddening scent: Honey, apples and that something else he had always thought of as the freshness of a spring rain. "Fleur?" he whispered.

One whispered word and she somehow turned to face him, but words failed them both at that moment. As they just stared in to each other eyes, reading each other souls, seemingly catching up and what they had missed of each other. There are no words that can do justice to the moment. He leaned in closer, the barest few millimetres. She wasn't sure if he had moved or if she had imagined it. To be honest with herself, she just didn't care whether he had or had not. She kissed him gently, "I'm real," she whispered throatily, "I'm here," she kissed him again, "I never, ever should have left." Her composure cracked, tears running down her cheeks, "Je suis..." she automatically switched to French, saying so many things that was afraid to say in English, because she didn't know how.

He certainly didn't understand the words but he could understand the raw emotion: The pain, the guilt, the agony she had lived through the past few months. In many ways, he had felt the pain, but never dealt with it - at least not as she had - he had simply bottled it, along with the rage and hatred at himself, at the situation, at fate, destiny and just about everyone he could realistically blame, with the sole exception of her to use as a weapon to empower his magic whenever he faced down the enemy.

He hesitated, not sure what he should or could do. He knew that no matter what had happened, no matter he had been through, there was no way that he was going to push her away. He had continued to fight after she had left him, only because it was displacement activity, like the smoking, and the drinking binges. Well, the drinking binges helped him deal with the pain that was a part of the burden of being the commander and leader of the Legion. In many ways, she was the closest thing he had to family, and perhaps more importantly, she was all he had to make life worth living. No. He decided. He was never going to let her go ever again. Ever.

Fleur's emotions had cycled between sadness, pain, hope, and fear in no particular order for several long minutes as she had poured out her heart and soul to him. She finally came to a stop. All she could do was now wait, hope and pray that she could the man she had spent nights dreaming of, agonizing over. She remembered the words spoken by Hermione. It was the only thing she had not spoken about, because she was not sure just how he would take it, especially if she was the one to bring up memories, or perhaps more accurately a spectre that haunted his dreams. But then again, there was no turning back. "We've been going nowhere Harry, stuck in neutral these past few months. I was, am wrong. It's because of me, that we have both had to suffer through this alone, instead of having one another to help, and support each other. There is nothing nice about being stuck in neutral, Hermione told me that. And she's right. We should be going forward together instead of trying to find our own, separate paths."

"Hermione..." Harry took a breath, "She's... gone, Fleur."

"I spoke to her, saw her," he whispered, "I saw... was with, Aimee" she whispered the name, still wondering if everything she had seen, done, experienced, even if it was inside her head, had been real or just a dream... a really, amazing dream. "Hermione, she told me... to tell you, "going forwards when neutral is a nice place." The expression on Harry's face was priceless, "She said... you would know what it means."

He did. He knew exactly what that meant. He had been the one to say those very words to Hermione in the first place. He nodded carefully, "She's right," he said quietly, "Both of us, made mistakes. We have a chance... to correct that. I know that I want, that chance." He took both her hands in his, "There only two questions left to ask: The first is can you forgive me? The second is whether you want to..."

Her lips came close to his, the same lips that had brought countless smiles to his face. The distance that separated them, was infinitesimally miniscule and she had no more thoughts, except for one, and that was to take the offered chance.

Their lips touched, and she breathed in his scent, letting it flood her senses. Musk, sweat, the hint of copper and something like peppermint. Her heart skidded to a halt as he froze beneath the touch of her lips, but started to beat. Fleur felt her knees go weak as his fingers slid up her arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps as she melted into him. The most natural thing in the world as their tongues duelled, like soft moist sabres.

There was a spark of heat, and somewhere within her, something smoulder with unbridled passion, the kind of passion that only her Veela half could ignite. Her face was a flaming red as emotions ran through her, emotions that both of them had locked away fort so many months finally rushed to the surface. She was lost as his fingers crept up, across her shoulder, his fingers entwined in her hair as he deepened the kiss. It was at that moment that she knew without a doubt that she had regained all that she had lost. And she knew that it was a mistake she would never be able to repeat again.

When their bond had formed the first time, it was one that she had willingly committed herself to. In many ways, she had bonded herself to him – something he had not done before. It was only the Veela who could initiate such a bond. Their partner, Veela or otherwise, always has the choice to bond, or not to bond. With a partner who was not like her, only marriage could complete the bond. She knew that Harry was not yet ready to make such a commitment, and would possibly never be ready for such a commitment. She had hope that would change with time, but that mattered little: She had the wizard she had always loved, and never been able to let forget. The Veela, had the best mate imaginable. She was truly at peace.

Harry hesitated for a moment, "I'm dreaming?" he whispered. "I've got to be dreaming."

She smiled, and pinched him gently, "If this is a dream Harry, I hope that you never wake up, because I would disappear. He hadn't let go, "I know you've wanted me back. I know you've missed me, as much, if not more than I've missed you." Tears trailed their way down her cheeks, "I was wrong, mon amour, je suis…. I do not know what to say to…"

The old grandfather clock in some corner of the room ticked away the seconds, each as loud as a gunshot in the occupied room. Suddenly, he realized something important: He didn't need to hear it. He didn't need to hear her apologize, beg for his forgiveness, beg for her to take him back. None of that mattered, because she was back. He kissed her hard, crushing his lips against hers, fingers tightening their grip upon her hair. She moaned through the kiss, a sound that was partly pleasure, partly satisfaction. She was back where she had always belonged.

It started raining, or perhaps it had been raining for hours and neither of them had noticed the sound of water dribbling off the windows like a car grinding its way slowly over gravel. It would have been cold outside, but they reunited couple didn't notice. Or care. She worked her allure, and charm, gently, and Harry responded in the way only a man who knows the sheer carnal delights of making love to Veela. He was suddenly on top of her, her legs coiled around his hips. She pushed him back, until he was upright, looking down at her with a predatory hunger. She arched her arms over her head, gripping the wrought iron headboard with both hands. He recognized that gesture of hers, of submission.

He could not take his eyes of her. The thin blouse she wore, hid nothing from his wandering eyes: The rapid rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the taut perkiness of her nipples, which threatened to tear their way out of her clothing. The smouldering passion that quite literally threatened to set her clothes, the bed and perhaps the entire room ablaze. He grabbed the neckline of her blouse and separated her from the flimsy garment.

As clichéd as it was, it felt like time was moving in slow motion for them both. It took only a whisper for Harry's armour and wargear to simply vanish, reappearing in a neat pile in a corner of the room. The form fitting body glove did little to hide his well-muscled yet not overly buff form that implied power and strength. She tore through the fabric her nails raking across his flesh. He didn't care about the pain. He felt it, loved it, and embraced the goodness of a pain that made him feel alive again.

He worked his way lower, leaving trails of kisses that burned every exposed inch of skin that they touched. "Harry," she pleaded, "I can't… control it… if you keep teasing me!"

He looked up at her, a small smile on his face, his eyes almost twinkling with amusement, "Who said I wanted you to keep control?" She was denied the opportunity to answer his he worked a finger in to her with an agonizing slowness as his tongue grazed her clit. Her hands gripped the sheets. His digits continued to caress her as he gave his tongue a momentary rest, "Propagoiucunditas solvo quis est intus,"

She was barely able to nod, as she arched off the bed as he nipped at her pert nipples that ached with unmitigated desire, amplified a thousand fold as his tongue teased its way back and forth across it. It took nearly all of her concentration to block out the feeling of pleasure as she echoed the incantation and released the Veela that had spent months in hunger and hatred of him. Now, only the hunger remained. It was ravenous, and it had to be sated.

Hours later, the rain continued to fall. Inside, the covers were twisted around their waists. The both smelled of sex, a light sheen of sweat covering them both. The rain was falling like it had never fallen before, rattling off everything it touch from the windows, to the stone walls of the mansion. Even the very plants and trees that decorated the gardens were not immune to the pelting rain that churned the ground beneath flowerbeds in to mud.

The couple rested against each other, her head upon his shoulder, waiting for their breath to slow and return to normal after their fourth round. The first had been raw, passionate and animalistic in its ferocity: The bite marks on Harry's collarbone would take days to heal if it were not for magic as Fleur had ridden Harry for all that he was worth. Their second round had Fleur almost submissively on her hands and knees as he had ploughed her hard and fast. She had screamed her pleasure several times before he had sated his own need, cumming deep within her. Their third and fourth times together had been gentler, more intimate, slow, and incredibly sensuous. It was not sex. It was the act of making love that only a couple who are truly together can experience.

Cradling each other in a cocoon of comfort, he could feel her chest, rising and falling as she breathed against him. She made to move, but his fingers tightened on her waist and she stilled for a moment before snuggling even more against him. Neither of them knew how long they lay like that. They didn't care as neither wanted to move, to just stay, and seemingly watch each other, seeing the energy leave each other, waiting perhaps for the other to fall asleep first. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her. "You look good," she whispered with what took more effort than it should have as she ran her fingers through his mused black hair, "scruffy, messy."

He smiled back at her and dipped his head and placed a long, deep kiss upon her mouth. They moved together seamlessly as he protectively curled himself around her, the duvet and bed sheets wrapped around them both. It was safe and warm and she drifted in to a heavy sleep. Sleep, was the last thing Harry wanted. He was exhausted, but he didn't want to take his eyes of her, or even risk relaxing his hold upon her, just in case this was all some incredibly real dream. In the end however, he dropped off, lulled to sleep by the steady pitter-patter of falling rain.

He dreamt heavily, slept badly as images of the devil, his parents, Sirius flashed and swirled at random, in demonic patterns. He stumbled from the darkness in to the Ministry of Magic, the Department of Mysteries. The veil. Images of battles fought and won, fought and lost warred for dominace in his mind with a clashing of metal with the sick scent of blood and sweat. He saw Voldemort brandishing a wand; he saw the sickly green of the killing curse flash towards him. He fell backwards, over an abyss he had somehow missed and plunged in to the darkness, only to slam in to the black ground hundreds of feet below. He opened his eyes, only to see Fleur lying next to him, with blue lips and a wide eyed, vacant stare, dead.

Harry bolted upright, his wand in his hand, chest heaving, cold all over like he'd been shoved back in to the cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive for several hours with nothing but dry ice for company.

"Harry?" Fleur whispered, her eyes awake and perhaps most importantly, alive, "Ne peut pas peur," she whispered, "I am here." He just stared, almost as if he didn't dare believe she was real. "With you. Are you alright?"

He wasn't sure. He didn't feel alright. The fear, the terror of those last few moments had been all consuming. A blanket of darkness and despair he had not known how to escape or cope with, "Harry? What's wrong?" He swallowed to find that his mouth was suddenly mysteriously bone dry.

It took him several attempts to muster the courage, to speak of what he had seen, "You… died," he choked, "For real… and there was nothing I could do…"

She sighed, and rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist, "A dream, love. A bad, terrible nightmare. I am not going anywhere. Never again." He nodded stiffly as she tried to sooth him, and coax him in to laying down with her. "No need to go back to sleep, just lie with me a while."

He turned suddenly, catching her hands in his, "Marry me."

The silence was like the screeching halt of the knight bus in the middle of Piccadiliy Circus at noon, on a Sunday, complete with gawking, pointing muggles.

"I… quoi?"

"Marry me, Fleur."

She looked at him, "You are serious?" she said, staring at him. He met her gaze and matched it.

"I've never been more serious about anything in my life." He kissed her forehead gently, "I never want to lose you. Not like before, not ever again. Fleur Delacour: Will you, marry me?"

She was stunned, left sitting with her mouth agape, hair mussed, alternating between sticking up wildly at incomprehensible angles or stuck to her skin. It took her several tries before she could speak. In the end she gave up, and abruptly went to the bathroom for several minutes. When she returned, her hair had been tamed in to a ponytail. He had not moved, except to put his feet on the ground.

She knelt down in from of him, and took both of his hands in hers, "Harry, non."

He blinked. "What?"

She shook her head. "I can't marry you, not now."

"W—" he looked around, as if the confusion, and fear within his head had exploded out of his head to find answers in the darkness of the room. "Why… why not?"

She somehow shuffled closer, a slight smile on her lips. "Harry, I know what you must do. I know what you have just dreamt. But you must know, that I will only leave this life behind me, is if you leave it with me. Marriage… it's too much too fast. We've just… reconnected… I want some time to get used to having you back in my life, to being back in your life."

"But you love me," he said quietly. "Why not?"

"I do love you. I just need some time. You are vulnerable now, vulnerable again in a way. I know you fear history repeating itself, or worse. You don't want me to suddenly leave and hurt you all over again. I can't." she ran her hand gently across the trio of bites on his collar bone. "When I bit you, my saliva… the magic in it, in me, would recognize you as my life mate. I can never leave, unless you want me to leave your life. There is so much that we both have to do, must accept before we can get married, or simply run away and get married somewhere."

Slowly, Harry nodded, though he could not meet her eyes. She laughed, throwing her arms around him and pulling him back under the covers to snuggle against him, "I'm not saying never," she mumbled sleepily, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist. "Just not right now… I… we are not ready for such a commitment."

Despite the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks and the coolness in his stomach, he could understand her reasoning and logic. "I do love you," she whispered, "J'taime, always," she hesitated, "Even when we were...apart... I could not stop thinking about you."

"I know," he replied softly, stroking her hair, "I was... I don't…I didn't know what I was."

He could feel her smile, "We are all slaves to love and passion, mon amour. Always. Now, hold me," she commanded, "and never let me go."


	15. Chapter 74 - On the Subject of Family

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 74

On the Subject of Family

It was a quiet week that followed the storms that had devastated the British Magical World, and left them reeling on the brink of the abyss. They were perched on the edge of the knife and everyone, including those that had tried not to pick a side in the war knew it.

The Death Eaters had free reign of the whole country and had stepped up their attacks against the squibs, decimating their population by the hundreds. There only word that could accurately describe the situation facing the Squib population was Genocide. As cruel as it was, many were quietly hoping that Voldemort would focus his attention on the Squibs, and give the rest of the magical world a chance to do something.

But for Harry, there were more immediate and pressing concerns as he did what he could, mostly just by being there, for Fleur and Gabrielle as the sisters danced around each other, alternating between screaming matches that rattled the windows in their frames to sitting quietly, comforting each other to just crying in to each other's shoulders. Quietly, Harry had worked behind the scenes, ensuring that Gabrielle would have everything she would need to continue her education at Hogwarts. Even with Dumbledore there, Hogwarts was still a bastion of safety.

Keeping his ear to the ground, Harry had also learned the fate of Auror Command. Amelia Bones had survived, as had roughly twenty Aurors. They were all that remained of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries had held their own, and held the Ministry but their ranks had also been pulverised. Already there were whispers that the Department had essentially shut down, sealing away whatever they were working on and destroying whatever could not be safely stored or otherwise secured.

Harry did not bother attending class for almost a week – as an emancipated minor, he didn't have to worry. Reports from his friends made clear that the castle was fully secured and locked down. Indeed, there were Legionnaires patrolling the Castle throughout the day and night. Dumbledore had said nothing, and was more than likely relieved that nearly the entire student body had rallied when he had made his own call to arms, at the welcome feast.

If only he knew that the Legion were not acting on his behalf at all, but on Harry's orders, communicated via House Elf and communication mirrors. Slytherin House was well and truly isolated now, with the few exceptions being those caught on the Hogwarts Express. They were not exactly welcomed in to the fold, but they were given a great deal more latitude, unlike some – Draco Malfoy and his ilk. They ruled the roost in their dungeon but in the rest of the school, they toed the line. Tensions were high across the board, and several minor impromptu duels had broken out for reasons that ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous and obscene.

Harry had planned to return to Hogwarts towards the middle of September after taking time to sort things out with Fleur, and also to get to know Gabrielle a little better. The trunks, bought by Harry so many months ago proved their worth as their integrated Floo Network that linked the trunks allowed them to leave the castle undetected in the evening and return in the morning without being missed.

It was late in the night when the Legion Core met, and welcomed Fleur back. Though that had not seen her for several months, and had next to no contact with her, they were all secretly pleased when she returned. Indeed, her presence saw a marked shift in Harry. For one thing, he quit smoking. For another his temper was on a more even keel.

"Sexual tension…" began Fred

"….and frustration," continued George, "must have made life difficult around here while she was away." There was a good bout of laughter, and if nothing else, it made the situation very clear to Fleur: She was welcome amongst them.

Luna, Colin and Neville had wisely said nothing about his other problem: Binge drinking. He seemed to have stopped drinking beyond a social bottle of Butterbear, or measure of Firewhiskey with Griphook.

With Harry planning to return to Hogwarts with Fleur and Gabrielle, they were gathered in the meeting room adjacent Harry study, absorbing a long list of information that was nothing but bad news. The meeting had gone on for over an hour and they were just wrapping things up, "So to conclude," Sighed Amelia quietly, "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is now a paper department. The Department of Mysteries is in almost the same condition. Most of the Department heads were killed. The Minister continued to dither, at a complete loss as to what he should be doing about the situation." She concluded, "I believe that Death Eater infiltration is almost total. And there is nothing we can do about it."

"Your people, their families, are they safe?" he asked.

"As safe as they can be under a suite of wards and the Fidilius Charm. I can do no more."

"No," agreed Harry with a sigh, "I don't see how you could do anything else."

Harry turned his attention to Griphook, "What of Gringotts and the Goblins?"

"We stand ready to fight, but the High Council still sees this as a matter between the wizards and will not intervene. They will not as they see no profit to be made in going to war."

"They don't see the fires of war will spread and consume them as well," said Luna quietly, "Voldemort will not stop until the only magical race left in the country, in the world is wizard kind." There was general agreement around the table, "What about the other races, will they fight?"

Griphook nodded, "Some of the werewolves will fight with use, in exchange for Wolfs Bane to keep them sane during the change. Many others are either planning to leave the country or perhaps join Voldemort." Griphook smiled evilly, "Those in the last category have been...dealt with." He took a moment to sip his whiskey before continuing, "The Vampires have no real interest in this war. Indeed, they are departing the country as we speak, to all four corners of the globe. They see no reason to involve themselves one way or the other. The few Giants which remain are unfortunately firmly in Voldemort's camp: He has been making overtures to them for the past two years."

"At least they seem smart enough to realize that there is going to be no middle ground in this war," remarked Neville.

It was the twins that had the courage to ask the one question that none of them wanted to address, in their typical fashion, "How's Moony?"

There was silence as everyone turned to Harry, the only person to have seen and spoken to the last of the Marauders. Harry shook his head, "He's… I think he's worse than I ever was." He breathed a sigh, "There was something between them," he didn't have to specify who "them" was. Everyone knew the love story between the werewolf and the Auror. "Something like, what I have, and… have had. I don't know how to help him." He hesitated, wondering how much he should reveal, but then decided to take the full plunge, "When I spoke to Amelia Bones earlier…. She passed a message from Tonks to Remus. She called him his Alpha."

"Oh wow," said Luna. For a moment, there was the hint of the old, dreamy Luna Lovegood, before she the murder of her father had hardened her. It was gone in an instant, "Oh… bugger." The rest waited for a moment as she marshalled her thoughts, "Their relationship was fully consummated," she explained quietly, "Much like yours and Fleurs," that brought a round of sniggers from everyone gathered.

"So we've heard," said Colin with a laugh.

"Mine, and Colin's is also fully consummated you know," she added as an afterthought. Colin wasn't sure which would cause him to die of embarrassment first: The wolf whistles and cat calls of the Twins, or the looks of incredulous disbelief on Ginny and Neville's faces.

"If she referred to him as Alpha, then, they were as good as married… and werewolves, like wolves in the wild, mate for life." A dropped pin would have echoed like a gunshot in the ensuing silence, "He will never find another." She confirmed. Out of everyone gathered in the meeting room of Potter Manor, only two people could come close to imagining whatever it was that the werewolf was feeling: Harry and Griphook.

"We do what we can," said Harry, "All of us. Beyond that, I don't know what we can do." He felt helplessly out of his depth here, frustrated that he could do nothing for a member of his rather odd family. Fleur gently took his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Any other Legion related business? Good. Can someone fill me on the welcome feast?"

A memory was brought forth and dropped in a pensieve. With a wave of a wand, the memory –courtesy of Luna – was projected upon the wall for them to watch. The welcome feast had gone ahead and it was only after the tables had been cleared did Dumbledore rise to speak, "Welcome to our new students and welcome back to those who are returning for another year at Hogwarts! First, allow me to get the unpleasantness of reminding you of the rules out of the way. The Forbidden Forest is, of course, forbidden, and Mister Filch has informed me that the complete list of banned items is available in his office.

"There is one addition to our staff." Dumbledore said, motioning to a man sitting on the right side of the high table. "For those of you who remember him, Remus John Lupin has agreed to once again stay at Hogwarts to teach Defense against the Dark Arts. Given the situation outside these walls, I implore that you listen to Professor Lupin's instruction." There had been a lot of mumbling and muttering from Slytherin House at the werewolf's return, something which Dumbledore addressed immediately:

"Professor Lupin suffers from the curse known as Lycantrophy. He is however, getting the support necessary, with continuous access to the Wolfsbane Potion, as well as a secure facility for his monthly change which occurs during the full moon. Anyone," Dumbledore's voice had dropped from friendly and polite to no-nonsense, and outright dangerous, "who is found to be interfering with the supply of Wolfsbane, or to treat Professor Lupin with anything but courtesy and respect he is due as a person, will answer to me personally." That had silence the whispers instantaneously.

"As I told you last year, Lord Voldemort has returned." Dumbledore paused as the students gasped. "The Ministry for Magic continues to deny his resurrection, and has put our society at a great disadvantage. This has caused Hogwarts and the Ministry to have something of a… falling-out… but rest assured, Hogwarts and its staff will always protect the students who walk these halls."

More muttering and whispers, "And at this time, I must apologize, for my failures last year to protect this school, and all of you, for allowing Ms. Umbridge to have unfettered access, to disrupt your lives. Such a failure will not happen, ever again." He paused and collected himself, "Ms. Umbridge, is but the last straw in a list of grievances that stretches back a number of years that have brought Hogwarts in to conflict with the Ministry of Magic." Another breath, "It is for that reason that Hogwarts has severed ties with Cornelius Fudge and the Ministry for Magic. Your studies will continue unaffected, but make no mistake, that we are now, at war with Lord Voldemort," a collective shudder ran through many of the students, except for the Legionnaires and the muggle born first years that had no idea what was going on.

"Voldemort will stop at nothing until he has this country in his grasp. There is nothing that he will not do, no law, no moral code, no boundary that is sacred to him." The colours of the four houses which decorated the Great Hall vanished and were replaced by banners of black, "Tonight, as we have done before, we mourn the passing of Hogwarts students, stolen from us long before their time. Tonight, we honour them, and we thank them, for without their courage and sacrifice many more would not be here to partake of our feast."

"The world outside these walls is no longer safe," he said. "The threats posed by both the resurgence of Voldemort and the corruption of the Ministry are real and grave. For this reason, Hogwarts will be open to all who seek haven within its fortifications. The castle will be expanded to house any who look here for refuge, so I encourage you all to implore your families to consider taking up residence."

Dumbledore returned to his seat, wishing there was something he could do to change the sombre atmosphere. In the end he simply said, "There is no place truly safe anymore as long as Voldemort is allowed to run free. However, Hogwarts is safer than most, not because of her many wards and defenses, but simply because I know that for many of you this is your home. We will not let our home be overtaken and destroyed without a fight. Voldemort may inspire fear, but he also feels it when he thinks of who is here, ready to oppose him."

Harry nodded, deep in thought and then turned to address them, "I have one point of… personal business: Gabrielle Delacour."

Everyone who had met the 10 year old could have seen the obvious resemblances the sisters. Indeed, the Legion Core could see that she would be as beautiful as Fleur with waist length silvery blond hair and a simply dazzling smile. There really was something angelic about the young girl, but everyone had already seen her working out her rage and grief in the training room. Given her age, it was only her anger, bitterness and pain that when combined with her Veela heritage, had let her channel her magic, and thus use a wand. The spells were, uneven to say the least, but it gave her an outlet, which was precisely what she needed.

"You'll do what is right," said Neville, "I don't think we really need to discuss this any further." There was agreement around the table, "Fleur's either getting a job at Gringotts again, or going to be working in Hogwarts, or working with Legion. And there is no way you would let Gabrielle out of your sight." He shrugged, "No way Fleur's going to let her out of her sight either." Fleur nodded ever so slightly.

Things were strangely, not awkward between everyone, and Harry still had difficulty grasping that, but then he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He shrugged, "Then it's time for me to make a return to Hogwarts." He looked around the room, "Tomorrow. Thanks everyone."

The meeting broke up and the various members of the Legion took the Floo back to their respective trunks or to the Residence well beneath the bedrock of the castle before returning to the classroom via Moaning Myrtle's second floor toilet. Colin and Luna were the last two to leave, leaving the reunited lovers together. "Fleur," he said, "You are sure? That you want to work at Hogwarts? It's not going to be easy."

They both knew the memories and horrors the place held for them both, spanning from the Triwizard Tournament. Fleur only nodded, "It is the only way to ensure that Gabrielle is safe. I can take up a position as a teaching assistant in any subject, and still be close to you." She took his hand in hers, almost shy of the physical contact. She had him back, and would never make the same mistake again, would not let him go ever again. Everything had made her slightly clingy, but only in private. There was an irrational fear that Harry could drop down, stone dead at a moment's notice. She knew it was fear and insecurity over the death of her parents, and knew it would pass, when it passed. Until then, the little touches and gestures were enough to keep her clam and reassured.

"If you are sure," said Harry, holding her hand, "I'll make sure that Gabrielle is sorted in to the house of her choice. I'm thinking she would do best in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff."

"Not Gryffindor?"

"Ron," said Harry simply, "I don't trust him and if he thought he could somehow use her to get to you or me, he wouldn't hesitate – the little bastard," growled Harry. "The Death Eaters have probably infiltrated every house, but they won't act without orders. Ron… well…. Ron being Ron, he's a little short in the brains department."

She nodded. What he said did make sense. She pulled herself in to his arms and sighed softly as he held her. No words were spoken as they stared out the window, across the gardens of the Manor. It was as if they both caught sight of the same path of garden at the exact same moment. For the couple, it brought back a memory, one that both of them cherished, though for different reasons. For Harry it was one that could power a Patronus with ease. It was the day, or rather the evening when Fleur had told him that she was pregnant with their daughter. He sighed softly, wishing that things could be different. He clamped down on that line of thought. It would drive him insane if he dwelled on it, and he ruthlessly refused to do that.

Fleur remembered the same evening, one that had filled her with fear, then relief and giddying happiness. She had wondered how Harry would have reacted, both the good and the bad. Suffice to say that Harry's reaction had been everything she had hoped for and so much more. "If only," she whispered to herself, "J'taime ma petite."

"I love her too," whispered Harry. He was in a way, envious of Fleur, that she had been able to spend time with their daughter. But then, she had needed it more than he did. He didn't grudge her the time, but wished he'd been able to share it, somehow.

They said nothing more, but stood together, his arms wrapped around her waist, her hands entwined with his, as they watched the sun set. The sound of bare feet padding across the floor brought them out of their reverie for a moment, long enough for Harry to hoist the ten year old girl up with one arm, the other still firmly wrapped around Fleur.

Given the closeness of the bond between the sisters, Gabrielle had felt the shift in Fleur emotions, which had turned inwards, to thoughts of Aimee. It had brought Gabrielle in to the room. She certainly had not minded when Harry hoisted her in to his arms, and somehow managed to hold her and her older sister.

Veela, even those who are part Veela, enter puberty at a significantly younger age. Gabrielle was no exception: Ten years old in body perhaps, but closer to a mature – by comparison – fifteen in her mind. Just like her sister: Seventeen in age, but closer to twenty-one in her mind. The night was as close to perfect as it could be. The path ahead of them was filled with more challenges than they would ever imagine.

Fortunately, their return to Hogwarts was the least of their problems as Gabrielle was quickly sorted in to Ravenclaw House. Harry had also exchanged a few words with the Headmaster and they had somehow managed to trash out some form of agreement: Fleur suddenly found herself gainfully employed as Harry's assistant to manage any and all matters that he placed under her purview, which necessitated an office within the castle. It was a simple and effective way for Harry to keep Fleur close to Gabrielle. Dumbledore has wisely agreed without a fight, and the one hundred and fifty seven year old wizard breathed a sigh of relief: At least Harry was back at Hogwarts. He had feared that after his disappearing act the night before, he would not return to Hogwarts, as he was perfectly entitled to do as an adult.

It was a return to some measure of normalcy within the castle. The usual routine of classes, homework and routine established itself. But the Legion was anything but inactive. Indeed, it continued its training, and began to concoct a series of plans. The Legion was fully aware that it was only a matter of time before Voldemort made a move against another target, and quite possibly moved against Hogwarts itself. The Ministry still stood, but it was at best a tissue paper government that had essentially nothing left to do: Fear was the norm, and the attacks against witches and wizards, squibs and even muggles had continued almost unabated. Every day there were fresh reports of attacks and more and more people were streaming in to Hogwarts in search of refuge from the coming storm.

The attack upon the Hogwarts Express had already proven the lengths to which not only Voldemort, but also his Death Eaters would go to rule the country. It was a matter of time before the Death Eaters marched on Hogwarts, something which frustrated Harry no end as they intensified their preparations as best they could. Thanks to his foresight and the Goblins, they had amassed an incredible stockpile of resources ranging from the bare necessities of food and water, medicines and potions, potions ingredients and just about everything else that could be imagined.

The caches were vast and secreted across the country, in a series of caches and safe houses that Griphook had purchased and arranged with Harry's approval. Indeed, across the country, there were over two dozen such properties, each capable of sustaining a maximum of thirty people, who would not have to step outside for anything for not less than six months. Needless to say, two such locations were Potter Manor and Grimmauld Place.

The Twins however, had refused to abandon their premises in Diagon Alley, and kept the store open and staffed as did the rest of Diagon Alley, which continued to do a very brisk trade in the essentials as witches and wizards the length and breadth of the country began to horde. Needless to say, sales suffered but they were still relatively profitable, since they had expanded their product line to include a variety of muggle board games. The games were a very subtle snub towards the pureblood elitists by virtue of their muggle origin, and incredibly profitable as the perfect way to pass the time when in hiding. Monopoly, Scrabble, and Uno became Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes latest and most profitable cash cows. Indeed, the Hogsmeade branch of WWW opened since the summer had difficulty keeping the games in stock, something which amused the Twins no end.

Indeed, there had been discussion in to making both WWW locations safe houses, but the idea was quickly vetoed by the twins themselves: They were businesses and hiding them under the Fidilius would destroy them, not to mention the possible damage to morale across the country if the Twins seemed to go in to hiding. Indeed, their latest product "U-No-Poo: The Constipation Sensation Sweeping the Nation" had buoyed the spirits of a weary populace.

What had given the Legion hope was a brief missive from the Master Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries: without mincing words, he had covertly aligned his department, and all of its resources behind Harry Potter. Their study in to the "Effingus Problem" had merited some good news: The was a limit to how many Effingus could be created, and their wildest estimates put those numbers at between forty and fifty for every Death Eater in Voldemort's service. One thing that they had all noticed was that the Effingus were always members of the rank and file, never the more senior Death Eaters, or members of the Inner Circle, which made sense to Harry at least, "Can you imagine two Lucius Malfoy's running around? They'd either spend their time scheming against each other, or scheming to overthrow Voldemort. He rules through fear and terror, he punishes without mercy. Two or three Lucius Malfoys would probably start working together to overthrow or kill him!"

Copies of Bellatrix Lestrange then made a creepy but near perfect kind of sense to those who had even remotely heard of her adoration of her Dark Lord. Each copy would not only do everything in their power to please their master, but would no doubt throw themselves at any threat without a care for their own lives. It was potentially the perfect cadre of bodyguards. One that Neville had put to an end in what was being regarded as one of the finest duels in recent history.

Harry had laughed, "It would save me the trouble of killing him." It was the way he spoke, that made clear that he could and would kill Voldemort, provided he was given a clean shot to get the job done. The trouble would be arranging that clear shot.

When someone had pointed out the Prophecy, and how Harry was the one who was destined or fated or "shanghaied" in to killing Voldemort, there had been some surprise as Harry agreed, "I've got to be the one to kill him. That doesn't mean that a lot of people can't hack of his limbs before I kill him!"

In a now, somewhat less rundown Manor House on the outskirts of Little Haggleton, The Inner Circle of the Death Eaters gathered awaiting the arrival of the Dark Lord. The mood was sombre as they all knew what they were gathered to discuss, amongst other matters. Well attuned to the mood of their Lord, the Death Eaters knew that the longer they had to wait, the worse things would be. Given that they had been waiting for almost half an hour, several somebodies were going to be on the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse. The only question was who.

Draco Malfoy absently noted the arrival of his Lord, with his robes billowing in a remarkably Snape like fashion. He quickly averted his gaze, staring at the table top as Voldemort took his seat. With a nod, the rest took their seats around the table. "Well?" it was not spoken; it was hissed, crackling with power like liquor poured over ice.

Wormtail hesitated then ploughed ahead, "It is as we feared my Lord. The artifice will not withstand much more use. Already the cracks in the crystals grow larger. It is a matter of "if," but of "when"…" he trailed off, bracing for the pain he was certain would befall him for being the bearer of bad news. To his surprise, and dismay of the rest, Lord Voldemort merely nodded.

The only sound came from the crackling of the logs in the fireplace which had burned low, throwing a fitful light across the room which illuminated everything in half shadow. Despite sitting facing the flames, the light failed to reveal the face of Lord Voldemort, as if the light itself feared touching the face of the Dark Lord. In his trademark black robes, the only thing visible was his hands, and the thirteen inch yew wand which he rolled patiently between his fingers. "Disappointing Wormtail," he said, "But I foresaw this possibility, and even I would be… hard pressed to replace the crystals. Indeed, their acquisition proved, problematic." His gaze made its way round the table, "But we have sufficient numbers to proceed as planned?"

"You do Milord," said Snape. With Lucius still rotting in Azkaban alongside a dozen or so Effingus, it fell to Severus Snape to take the place at the right hand of the Dark Lord. "Your infiltration of the Ministry is complete and we are poised to strike upon your command."

"Not yet, Snape," he said, "The Effingus should have been sufficient to tip the scales of this war in our favour, but now, we must ensure that we have the numbers to not only take, but to hold and secure the country, and impose my vision. First, we must take Azkaban."

The Death Eaters stared for a moment, one or two swallowed their gasps of surprise, "But My Lord," said Rockwood, "Azkaban has never been taken, though I am certain you have a plan?" he amended quickly.

While the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been well and truly decimated, the administration of Azkaban was was handled by a separate department, one which was self-contained upon the island which housed the prison. Indeed the Azkaban Guard were almost impossible to infiltrate, given the long standing practice of ensuring that the complex was fully self-sustaining. The only access was via a secured Floo which had been in the Director of Law Enforcement Office, which had been destroyed just days before.

"Lord Voldemort has a plan," confirmed the Dark Lord, "The Dementors, our natural allies in this struggle are the key to overthrowing the Azkaban Guard." Though none could see his face, they could feel his face twist in to its mockery of a smile, "The Dementors are poised to strike, but for now, we shall wait and see what further develops."

He turned his gaze upon Percy Weasely, "Percy, the time has come for you to prove your worth, and prove that you are worthy of your position at my side, as a member of this august body."

Percy stood and bowed deeply at the waist, "I am yours to command my Lord."

"Good. Good," he breathed, "You will take a contingent of Effingus and obliterated a family of blood traitors." The smile was felt, "I believe you are well acquainted with them: Arthur, Molly, Fred, and George." Silence greeted the command, "Your brother Ronald, knows what must be done with Ginerva. You strike tomorrow."

Percy was unable to keep the smile from his face. This was everything he had hoped for, "Your will be done my Lord. Shall I alert my brother and fellow Death Eater to be ready to strike?"

"No. Ron will play his part when the time comes. For now, Percy, go forth and restore the honour of your family name." Percy bowed once more and left without a backward glance as he strode from the room.

"My Lord," Draco Malfoy hesitated for a moment, cringing in anticipation of pain, "What of Bill and Charlie Weasely?"

"The Goblin lover will be dealt with if he opposes us. Given he is currently in Egypt, he is of no consequence, as is the dragon tamer. Perhaps," mused the Dark Lord, "A dragon will spare us the task of killing him." There was a rustling of black fabric, "Severus, ensure that our… protégé carries out his task. You will accompany Percy upon his mission."

"As you command my Lord," said Snape

Lord Voldemort rose to his feet, and the others followed suit, bowing low, "Oh, and Wormtail," he added conversationally, "Crucio!" The scream of pain was the sound of music to Lord Voldemort, and he left the man a quivering pile of jelly upon the floor next to his chair, "You have failed me for the last time Wormtail. Next time, your failure will cost you your life."

10


	16. Chapter 75 - Fall of the House of Weasel

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Spot the Tongue in Cheek sci-fi/fantasy weapon reference. Here's a hint: The first movie came out in the 1970s, and there have been two trilogies since then, starting with episodes 4-6, and then episodes 1-3...

Chapter 75

Fall of the House of Weasely

Halloween was only days away, and Fred Weasely whistled tunelessly under his breath as he walked out of the backroom of Weasely Wizarding Wheezes, located at number 93 Diagon Alley. Businesswise, they were still in the black, though just barely. The joke and pranks business was suffering given the current situation. Indeed, hindsight was perfect as the Twins realized that opening the Hogsmeade branch had never been the brightest idea. Closing it was akin to surrender, and if there was one thing Weaselys would never do, it was surrender. Surrender, was so very "un-Weasley," that the word was alien to their vocabulary.

He ran his eyes over the stocked shelves, doing a quick inventory check. Everything was where it should be and glanced at his watch. He still had a quarter of an hour before the ten o'clock opening. He moved to the front of the store, and checked the security measures – just in case anyone had been snooping around during the night. None of the perimeter wards had been tripped, the Stunner traps had netted the usual bag of cockroaches and rats. He flipped the sign from "CLOSED" to "OPEN," had his hand on the manual lock when he caught a flicker of movement outside, just across the street.

He looked up and his eyes widened in shock as twenty men appeared, stripping off invisibility cloaks or ended whatever concealment charms they were using. With wide, horrified eyes he watch them, almost three dozen of them in black robes and silver masks level their wands in the direction of the store. Weasley Wizarding Wheezes was a store, not a fortified outpost. He called upon the wards and realized that there were more of them, standing in the back alley behind the building, wands raised and levelled. More of them continued to unmask themselves before his eyes.

Fred ran and threw himself behind the counter as the first of the blasting hexes slammed in to the wards. The entire building shook as a second wave cracked them, and the third wave of spells broke the wards completely.

He twisted the Legion Ring and tapped it twice and wand in hand, rose to his feet and began to cast. The spell chain was a mix of wizard and Goblin magic that obliterated almost a dozen Death Eaters in as many seconds. The backdoor splintered and one half of the Twins ducked and spun round, wand outstretched as the first of the Death Eaters stormed through the door.

With a snarled "Welcome to Weasely's Wizarding Wheezes!" he met them head on, charging in to spitting distance as he flew and slew through their ranks, cutting charms, piercing hexes, bombardment charms flashing from his wand in a near endless chain of destructive that broke, cut and pierced bone and flesh with equal ease.

Facing the back of the store, heard the storefront window shatter, felt the heat of as flame licked its way across the floor of the store, devouring the stocks of merchandise with demonic appetite. He rolled back around the counter in to cover. Somebody had scouted the defences. He thought grimly. Otherwise, they would not have been so particularly about burning the windows and doors, destroying the wood and stone frames which held the enchantments in place. How else would they have known how many it would take to bring down the defensive wards cast by the Goblins?

"Thank you for making a purchase!" Firing through the flames his first two piercing hexes missed, but the third found its mark as it struck a silver mask just below the nose. The mask itself seemed to deform, pulling itself, along with skin and muscle in to the narrow inch wide hole, moments before the back portion of the cranium exploded outwards in spray of liquidized flesh.

He rose, spells flying from his wand, "Death Eater specials for today: Death by hex, curse or bad joke!" With a shout of anger and rage they rushed him coming through the back door and the flames simultaneously trying to overwhelm him. Water ran over the floorboards of the shop as he rolled on to the counter and electrified it with a bolt of energy. Six Death Eaters twitched and fell to the ground. Shelves of merchandise were pulled over burying one more in a mountain of fireworks, moments before the entire stockpile went up, courtesy of a shower of sparks. Two more were flash crisped in the aftermath, leaving only mocking rictus smiles behind, the whiteness of their teeth a shocking contrast to their charred black corpses.

Fred knew these were Effingus, ad that they were being deployed as expendable. They had neutralized most of the defences, and he knew that he would not be able to maintain such a prodigious cast rate for much longer as he dived behind the counter again as a hex vaporized the cash register, making it rain gold, silver and bronze for several moments. "Griphook always said that the British wizarding economy was under fire."

In the momentary pause he activated his emergency portkey only for the device to fizzle with a splutter. He blasted another Death Eater in to a wall with a wave of his wand. He rose and ducked almost immediately as a sickly yellow curse smashed in to the display above him. The fireplace was out which ruled out the Floo Network. He tried, knowing that if his portkey failed, apparition was probably warded as well. He vanished for a moment, only to reappear in exactly the same spot. His moment's disappearance had saved him as he reappeared crouched in front of a Death Eater whom he promptly punched in the face.

There was a crack of bone as the magically enhanced punch rocked the Effingus back several steps, spilling half a handful of spherical crystals across the floor, throwing pools of eerie blue sapphire light across whatever the light touched, including Fred's left foot.

Statistically "Oh Shit!" is the most common last word of those about to die a violent death. Precisely one second later, Fred Weasley joined this numerical calculation as his entire world vaporized around him in an explosion that rocked the foundations of Diagon Alley itself.

In Hogsmeade, George Weasley rose from his chair, sipping on a Butterbeer as he ambled to the front of the store to flip the sign from "CLOSED" to "OPEN." The Legion ring burned, hot enough to cause pain. The twins had played around with spare Legion rings and having deconstructed the magic, added their own series of personal coded messages that only the two of them could read or understand. The pain was a piercing, sharp white hot feel. Magic flared around him as the pain told him everything he needed to know, and he stumbled, falling to his knees. The pain meant that his better half, half his soul had just been ripped from him.

He staggered, leaning against the door frame. For the first time in his life, he felt the acid hotness of tears in his eyes. Half of him, his better half was simply gone. A familiar rushing sound filled his ears, one her recognized from far too many hours spent training with the Legion, he recognized the sound from his duels, and battles with Death Eaters: It was the sound of mass casting. Through tear blurred eyes, he saw them, standing in the street. He knew he should cast a shield, apparate, portkey, teleport, or dive for cover.

The wards went live, seconds before the first wave of spells would have struck the building. Where Number 93 Diagon Alley had been converted to suit their needs, Number 33, Hogsmeade was a free standing building of stone and laid with charms and wards of a befuddling array and variety. The shields withstood the second and third barrages, and the ward scheme, having detected spells of lethal intent: Retaliated.

The flash was blinding as it swept out and across the street, and followed quickly by a nova of burning flame that radiated outwards from the building. Those caught in the blast left scorch marks upon the road and nothing else. Those that survived moved farther back and hammered the structure with a second, third, fourth and fifth volleys in furious succession.

Sure enough, the wards were newly laid and would not be able to withstand such an assault for much longer. George stared out at his black robed, silver masked killers for a moment and then snapped in to motion, only to realize that the trap had ben expertly set and sprung. Like Fred, they had severed the Floo and instead of warding the property itself, warded around it against any form of magical transport or movement.

He was same only for as long as the wards held, and that would not be long, and felt his tears die as he consigned himself to his fate. He knew that there was no way his brother would have failed to spread the word, but he did so himself and drew his wand. He tapped a message in to his ring and sent it, and then sat back and waited, summoning a bottle of Butterbeer. With practice ease, he smashed the bottle top of with the edge of the counter, and out of habit, hammered the bottle cap in to the counter top. They had deliberately chosen a softer wood for this.

The wards wavered, flickered and then finally collapsed, followed moments later by the entire storefront as Fyndfire burned away the front third of the shop, leaving nothing but ash in its wake as the Death Eaters howled their victory and charged in to the store George Weasely, smiled serenely as they raised their wands with tears still falling from his eyes. He looked at the assembly of mindless cretins before him, "Hold on, brother of mine," he choked out, "I'm coming." Twin tears rolled down his cheeks. For a moment the Legionring came in to perfect focus for a moment, "Forever against the Darkness," hewhispered as he urned to facedown the ocean of wands, "Mischief managed!"

Fire blossomed from the walls. The shelves exploded in to metal and wood shrapnel. The air itself grew hot enough to sear the lungs of those who had only a few agony filled seconds to inhale it. The second floor seemed to fall downwards in a single solid slab of wood and stone. Barely halfway in to its free fall, everything exploded outwards in corona of white heat. The collapse of the two-story building echoed up to Hogwarts itself.

Within minutes of the twinned attacks, there was an explosion of activity in Hogwarts. Six witches and wizards had hissed in pain, stopped what they were doing, and stormed out of class with one word to their respective professors: "Voldemort."

The professors in question – Vector, McGonagall, and Lupin – had merely nodded and let them go. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had decreed that they would do what they have to do, and would do so without interference. It was all the aging headmaster could think of to try and get Harry Potter back on side and under some measure of control. They also had no doubt that whatever was going on, the Order would have responded as well.

If only the Headmaster knew what he had unleashed: The six dashed through the corridors and were quickly joined by other students. For the few students loitering in the entrance hall, it was like watching a tsunami make its approach as over two dozen students quickly became two hundred, taking the Great Hall by force. Harry leapt on to the raised platform and turned to face the assembled ranks, "Legionnaires!" he called. Brutally forcing his emotions aside at the thoughts of two of his closest friends, now dead at the hands of the enemy.

Everyone shut up, giving him their undivided attention, "Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, both under…"

A Raven Patronus burst through the walls and landed alongside Harry, from its beak issued the voice of Amelia Bones, "Diagon Alley, at least two hundred Death Eaters!" The Patronus seemed to shriek for a moment, before the voice of Susan's aunt returned, "Avada Kedevra! Under Ministry Charter, Section forty-two, subsection nine: As acting in charge of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, all members of the paramilitary organization "The Legion," under the command of – "Diffindo!" - Harry Potter are hereby deputized as Reserve Aurors, Junior Grade. Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood, Fleur Delacour, Ginerva, Fred, George Weasely and Neville Longbottom are hereby deputized as Reserve Aurors Senior Grade. All Reserve Aurors – "Confringo Maximus!"- are to report to Harry Potter for IMMEDIATE tactical assignment to repulse Death Eater Incursions in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade!"

The Raven vanished in a puff of silvery smoke leaving the Great Hall speechless for several long heartbeats.

"Well, that escalated quickly," remarked Luna with a laugh. There were a few titters of laughter which helped break the tension of the moment. Harry nodded appreciatively.

"Indeed," agreed Harry, "Legionnaires! You know your commanders! Double check your war gear and… get ready," he took a breath to calm and steady his nerves as he thought of the graveyard in Godric's Hollow, "We go to war!"

The Legion Counsel looked at each other for a few moments. Anyone watching would have been excused for thinking that they were a hive mind. They broke up and made their way out of the Great Hall, the students, just followed knowing who they were supposed to be following. The Legion organization drew heavily upon that of the Goblins: Each member of the Core would be leading at least forty-nine others in to battle as part of a Shuulkakec – company – composed of five Hakhuuch –squads – of ten which finally broke down in two dhegaakhaal – fire teams.

Three hundred students, a quarter of the student body of Hogwarts ran across the grounds and through the main gate, passing a group of second years in Care for Magical Creatures, as a gaggle of first years having their first flying lesson watched them from their perches high up on their brooms.

The Shuulkakec lead by Ginny and Neville simply kept moving towards Hogsmeade, while Luna and Colin and Fleur portkeyed and apprated their forces to Diagon Alley

Harry's own Shuulkakec made their way to the Burrow. If they had target Fred and George, it stood to reason that the rest of the family would have been targeted: Molly Weasely was easily the most exposed, especially if she was home alone as she tended to be. However, the home was protected by a Fidilius Charm so it should be safe. None of them wanted to voice the possibility that Ron had truly turned on not just Harry, but on his family as well.

They apparated in to the middle of the battle, and immediately they all dropped, hugging the ground as a hideous number of cutting, bombardment, blasting hexes, interspaced with the sickly green and orange unforgivable seared the air. The air itself tasting of burning, the acrid scent of death coating the back of their throats. Several hacked up balls of black phlegm.

They had apparated in to the back garden of The Burrow, only to find that the order was holed up in the house, and that they were beset on all sides. "Stagger one-two, barrier!" ordered Harry calmly. Legion spells lanced outwards, more to keep the Death Eaters heads down than anything else. The second wave followed hard on the heels of the first and the ground itself morphed, rising to form a ten foot high barrier that encircled at least the back gardens of The Burrow. They were safe for the moment.

"Shaklebolt," said Harry, "Want to fill us in?"

The dark skinned Auror nodded, "They came at us, just streamed past the wards, and the Fidelius like it wasn't there." He hesitated, "and if the Fidelius is broken…" He didn't have to say it, but there were two wayward sons of the Weasely family were the only possible suspects, "They've got about two hundred of them out there, mostly Effingus. A couple of higher ups."

There was a crash from the front of the house and the shrill shriek of Molly Weasely filled the air, "Not in my home you vermin!" There was a yell as someone went flying followed by a sickening crunch.

"What about the defences?" asked Harry as he jogged through the house, directing his forces with curt chopped hand signals that they hastened to obey. Instantly a squad was manning the earthen barricade, sending out precision spell fire in to the ranks of Death Eaters trying to close up the distance.

Another two squads climbed to the second and third floors, laying down more spells in a 360 degree spread, targeting clumps of Death Eaters with area affect and elemental spells taught by the Goblins, something which was not lost in Kingsley Shacklebolt for a moment but he had more pressing questions, "What defences?"

Harry frowned, "Fred and George said they'd seeded the grounds with all kinds of things."

"Things that blow up, and kill and maim?" They both ducked as a bolt of green death flew overhead and smashed in to the mantelpiece. Both rose, casting curses from the left and right respectively at separate targets before dropping back down, "They worked… trimmed the horde out there down to two hundred plus instead of three hundred fifty we would otherwise be facing."

For the moment, the terrain worked in their favour. They had both the high ground and cover. Only third squad would have a clean shot at them from the attic, "Third Squad: Nova, twenty five." His Patronus flitted up to them, "Second Squad: Nova, twenty. First, fourth: Arrowhead tempest."

Instantly, both squads had formed up, and waited as Harry silently counted down. There was an explosion of noise. Sound so loud in seemed to be blinding as the few Ballistic Bludgers the Legion had were employed to devastating effect, shredding most, if not all of the Effingus in cover, unable to dodge the hail of superheated shrapnel that fell amongst them. Blood misted and evaporated as flesh vaporized.

"Seems a little more even now doesn't it?" remarked Harry as Kingsley stared open mouthed.

"Those bludgers are Ministry…Department of Law Enforce…" began the shocked Auror

"What one creates, another can copy, and improve upon," said Harry grimly, "Those things out there, don't have enough brains to be considered human. They don't have the ability to think, to understand compassion, to understand anything at all. They're sheep. Sheep," he repeated, "born for slaughter. We're the butchers!" Something sparked and then the air was filled with heat as flames leapt to life, wreathing another Death Eater positions in flame, scouring flesh from bone with raw elemental fury. "That should even the odds."

Almost as quickly as it had evolved, the firestorm died away, "Legion!" he roared. Forty nine other voices roared right back, as he raised his wand overhead.

Across the way, Severus Snape breathed a sigh of relief. He was still alive – unlike Percy Weasely who had been perforated by shrapnel and then reduced to a fine ash that coated the scarred ground. He had known what to expect when he had seen the quaffle like objects launched from the second and third floors of the Weasley's hovel. The foul smelling liquid had been unexpected, as had been the sudden intensity with which it had ignited. There was pain, in his lungs, and he coughed, a splash of blood filling the inside of his silver mask. He tasted copper in his mouth and the back of his throat.

He knew that the Burrow would be well defended. The Twins would have seen to the defence of their family home. But this latest counterstroke, together with that earthen barrier meant that the Legion had arrived to bolster the flagging numbers of the Order of the Phoenix. Despite the pain he felt, a grim smile crossed his features. He would take a great deal of pleasure in removing the students that sullied the halls of Hogwarts.

He called the Effingus to him, having them form ranks. Their line was long and convex, enveloping the entire front of the Burrow, and would simply obliterate it when they were within range. "Death Eaters! Advance! Leave none alive!"

With Snape at their head, they began the slow steady task of marching forwards. Snape knew many of the Effingus would die, but he did not care in the least for their lives. There was no doubt in his mind that there would be one student down there he would love to kill: Potter. He could positively smell the bastard half-blood lurking somewhere in the hovel the Weasley's called a home.

Behind his silver mask, The Potions Professor of Hogwarts smiled as Harry Potter himself led the charge. Other overconfident Death Eaters would have no doubt laughed at the sight of school children versus the seventy or so Effingus. Indeed, several names leapt to the forefront of Severus's mind, including one Lucius Malfoy. Severus Snape vowed he would not make the same mistake.

"Don't die in the first charge, Potter," Severus hissed. He paused to look at the Death Eaters gathered around him. "Potter is mine! Kill the rest!" Slowly, dramatically, he raised his wand, holding it high in the air. He tightened his fingers, "Mordsemodre!

Then, he cut down with his wand.

Legionnaires had advanced out at a run but quickly slowed to a rapid walking pace. No sense in tiring themselves out, especially since they would have a face fight and a half in the coming minutes. The skull and snake emblem of Lord Voldemort, of his Death Eaters blossomed overhead, casting a grey shadow over the Legion. Harry responded in kind, "Oriuntur Bellum Avis!"

The air crackled around him, and the Legion gaped as wings of fire sprouted from behind his shoulder blades, growing wider, larger, expanding until the entire front rank of the Legion was enveloped in their warm embrace. With suddenness, the wings flapped, the grass beneath their feet singed as a Phoenix rose, an Axe clutched in one claw, a wand in the other, and smashed in to the Dark Mark. The magics warred with each other for a long moment then disentangled themselves until both of them were fluttering overhead.

"At them!" he roared, his voice echoing over any storm. Indeed, his voice was the thunder of the storm. Wand raised high into the air he rushed to meet the furious charge head on, with almost seventy Legionniares and Order of the Phoenix members following behind him.

The black wave of Death Eaters broke upon the charging Legionnaires like the oceans waves upon the white cliffs of Dover. Dozens were hurled back in to the air as stalwart Legionnaires collided with the Death Eaters. Spells shrieked back and forth at close quarters and collided in midair. The air smelt of burning, ozone and blood. Several cleaved limbs and heads flew above the battlefield as Harry struck hard. Spells, flew from both his wand and off hand, blasting one Death Eater in to steaming chunks of flesh while another lost his wand arm and left leg in quick succession from a pair of cutting curses. He cast and culled with a ruthless abandon, a successful blend of pure brutal instinct and the Legion training regimen.

An opponent came in with an arcing horizontal attack with a sword of all things. Without even thinking, Harry switched his grip on his wand, adopting a two handed grip. A column of light blazed from the tip. Forty inches long, the column was a perfect inch in diameter, the exact width of his wand. There was no cutting edge to it, no point to stab or thrust with. The blade was deep sapphire blue with streaks of emerald green crackling along its length like lightning: Raw elemental magic in its purest form. Harry went low, ducking beneath the slicing sword and slicing across horizontally. He cut the Effingus in half, its legs flopping to the left, the torso, arms and head to the right. There was no blood. The blade of energy had cauterized the wound cleanly. Two more came at him from his right. He cut and hacked deeply in to the chest of one. His left hand rose, glowing blood red in a flat-palmed slap to the chest of the second, moments before flames raced down his hand and in to the Effingus. It burned alive from the inside out. He roared a wordless challenge in that brief moment of respite and channeled a bolt of lightning that crackled from his fingertips in to the thickest concentration of the enemy, killing and maiming indiscriminately. The entire routine took less than three seconds and he pressed forward, slashing, hexing, stabbing and cursing at any opening that was presented.

Severus watched, impressed despite himself as Harry led his forces in a slaughter of his Death Eaters. True they had felled a number of the Legionnaires, and killed several. But the armor they wore was almost as impressive as their martial skill. It was double layered Dragon Hide which provided protection from a variety of spells, but perhaps most frustrating was that it produced some kind of shield that overlaid the armor itself. On more than one occasion, it had turned a killing blow in to an incapacitating one and whenever they had fallen, they were automatically portkeyed away to destinations unknown.

Under the direction of Terry Boot, Fifth Squad had been left to secure the rear. No complaints, questions or protests had followed the orders as the Death Eaters broke through the earthen barrier and poured through the breach. They were surprised to find a dogged resistance waiting for them.

"Keep them out!" ordered Terry, casting a piercing curse that punched through the throat of the first Death Eater to come through the smoke. Ten wands send dozens of curses and hexes back and forth across the narrow battlefield that the back garden had become. Boot demonstrated pride and fearlessness as he reached on to his belt and pulled the orb from its resting place, "Ease!" he shouted.

Immediately, everyone shouted the same word. With their mouths open, it drastically reduced the chance of their ear drums popping. Seconds later the devastator crystal detonated amongst the enemy. They rose and cast, forcing the Death Eaters to retreat as more and more fell to their spell fire. Terry Boot led the charge. Legionnaires to the last, they had been trained to fight Death Eaters. To say that they were eager to battle was an understatement.

"Bastards," growled Terry as he hexed a retreating Death Eater in the back, "Make them fear us!" he roared to his Legionnaires, and they shouted acknowledgement, unleashing another barrage of curses in to the retreating enemy, "Make them bleed and never come back!"

His Legionnaires were more than happy to do so.

In what used to be the front gardens of the Burrow, and the once picturesque open countryside on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole had been transformed in to Hell: the bodies of the fallen littered the ground as brush fires simmered and burned. The sickly stench of metal, copper tainted the air. The twin scents of burnt flesh and ash coated the back of everyone's throat. It was a smell so strong it was practically a taste upon the tongue. The moment the Death Eaters had chosen the copse to make their last stand; the Legion had plastered the area in enough anti apparition and anti portkey fields to cover all of Diagon Alley twice over.

"They're a malignant pox," muttered Shaklebolt, "The only thing we can do is destroy them all. But I suppose…" Harry watched in amazement as the Auror stepped out of cover and shouted, with the aid of a Sonorus charm, "We only make this offer once! Surrender yourselves to justice or…"

The piercing charm lanced from somewhere amongst the trees and took the Auror straight it the chest, throwing him off his feet, and he crashed to ground covering the hole in his chest as he coughed up a mouthful of blood. "Medic!" shouted Harry before turning his attention to Shacklebolt, "You, mother fucking idiot!" spat Harry, "When are you going to learn that these animals need to be put down, not negotiated with?"

He turned to the stand of trees only a few dozen meters away, and contemplated his options for a moment. Enough had died on both sides, and he had no interest in letting anymore of his legionnaires die today. He channeled his magic, slowly, feeling the power well up inside him, grow hot against his skin, he almost began the incantation when a voice oiled its way out of the trees, "So very noble Potter." He would recognize that sneering tone anywhere, "Offering your enemies the chance to surrender."

"Snivellius," whispered Harry. A smile crossed his face: As far as Harry was concerned Christmas had come early this year as a single black robed Death Eater stepped out and on to the open ground. A silver mask landed on the ground. Blood stained his mouth and lower part of his face, "I challenge you to a duel, you half-blood bastard!"

"Harry, don't!"

"It's a trap!"

"He's insane!"

The voice overlapped, urging him not to do this, not to answer the challenge, and all of them promptly fell silent at a look from him, except for one, "You're insane too you know that?"

"Yeah," agreed Harry, "I probably am Susan, I probably am." Harry stepped out and on to the blood streaked and fire blackened grass, staring straight in to the eyes of the man that hated him, and that he hated for the past six years with nearly every iota of his being. "Snivellius," said Harry cordially, "Ready to die you bastard traitor?"

"Not really, but your celebrity status has gone to your head, Potter. We shall see, who the better man is!" said Snape as he raised his wand, holding it outstretched like a jousting lance.

Harry just raised an eyebrow, and adopted a duelist's stance, sweeping his right leg back, wand outstretched overhead. His weight rested entirely on his back foot, as his muscles coiled, ready to spring in any direction. Fiery magic exploded from Severus's wand as he charged at Harry. Instinctively, the wand spun as Harry adopted a double handed grip. The same pillar of energy flared in to existence absorbing the fiery blast, "You don't think I'd actually bow to you? I'd sooner bow to Voldemort."

"You will be a corpse I present to him!" oiled Snape, "And I will be rewarded beyond the wildest dreams imaginable!" The former Potions Master of Hogwarts charged forwards, adopting a similar double handed grip on his own wand as a similar blade of energy, a violently bright red of magma from the heart of a volcano, "You cannot match my skill with such arcane weaponry Potter!"

"You never repented," said Harry conversationally, "Once a Death Eater always a Death Eater." On the inside, Harry was seething with anger, but would not let that rage emerge, not yet. The Gue'la animal less than a dozen feet away, "I can't deny that I'm going to enjoy this Snivellius," said Harry. With less than ten feet separated them, Harry exploded in to a blur of motion, ducking and rotating his body as the magma red blade sliced through the air above Harry's head as the Legion Commander smashed his shoulder in to the Death Eater's chest, throwing him backwards.

Snape dug in his heels and arrested his backward slide, bringing his blade up to meet and parry a quartet of rapid high-low-high-low blows. The blades met with a loud harsh screaming hiss as their blades clashed again, their faces inches from the others. Harry's foot rose and Snape was smashed backwards again.

This time Snape rode the blow, his blade vanishing as he unleashed another blast of fiery magic before charging forward behind it, reigniting the magma blade. Harry caught the spell on his own blade, feet spread to absorb the shock that radiated down the blade, in to his wand and hands.

Snape spun his blade in a rising slash, which Harry only managed to spot an instant before it would have cleaved him in two and weaved his body around the hissing column to stab for Snape's exposed stomach. But the Death Eater managed to drag his own blade back down to guard, sucking in his stomach and almost bending himself double to parry the thrust, pushing Harry's deep sapphire blue blade out wide.

Harry twisted away, evading the omnidirectional cutting blade that flashed in, managing to duck a slash to head as he leapt over a quick slash at his legs. He countered with a mighty one-handed overhead chop. Snape leapt back and the blade ploughed in to the earth, blowing up a shower of charred grass and soil.

The rest could only watch in disbelief as the two dueled each other with their magical blades, "Can wands…actually do that?" asked Terry.

"Given that they're both doing it… I guess…yes," replied Susan Bones. They turned their attention back to the fight as Harry twirled, his blade spinning around him in a one handed maneuver that parried another series of rapid strikes until Harry suddenly threw his strength behind his parry, throwing Snape off balance. Harry stepped in, his left fist rising and shooting across like an engine driven piston directly in to the Death Eater's jaw, spinning him around. Harry's right leg snapped out, driving the air from Snape's lungs followed by a vicious two handed punch to the back of the head, driving him to the broken ground.

Snape gasped in pain, but a quick sweep of his arm sent his magma blade cutting out at Harry's legs, which the Legion Commander had to leap over. Snape scrambled back to his feet in time to intercept a power dive from Harry that made their blades screech, almost as if in agony before they broke apart. A bolt of witch fire leapt from Snape's wand, forcing Harry to guard. The Death Eater smiled and spun in, driving Harry's blade upwards and out of the way, allowing Snape to return the damage with an elbow to the chin that caused Harry's teeth together with a harsh "click!" that chipped a tooth, followed by another punch to the face. Harry spun away, but Snape came in hard with a wide slash that caught Harry along his flank, charring the armor black. The energy of the blow was stopped, but not the kinetic force which cracked, if not broke several of Harry's ribs.

Harry gasped in pain but maintained his guard as Snape pounded his blade against Harry's, with a series of heavy handed chops and slashes that forced Harry on to the retreat. "Pathetic Potter," sneered Snape, "You are about as good as your father in a duel: Worthless. Lord Voldemort slew him in under a minute. You've barely fared half as well." The rage which had been burning in Harry reached that critical threshold. A fire was lit in his chest, as rage, anger, hatred bled through his body. With a roar, the Legion's Commander gestured forcefully with his left hand: Blue light rose from between his fingertips, ice and snow rippling around his fingertips as magic solidified and gathered upon the center of his outstretched hand. In a matter of seconds there was a single shard of ice which cracked in to a half dozen spears.

The glowing ice shards blasted themselves forward, faster than Severus Snape could even twitch. Severus Snape, however, was a member of Voldemort's Inner Circle. A wall of flame rose up and encircled the Death Eater within its flaming cocoon, turning the ice to steam in a heartbeat.

The two warriors locked gazes upon each other, their gazes filled with unbridled hatred for the other. Then, in that moment, they charged, rushing at each other across the uneven broken ground. The distance between them diminished with a brutal quickness, each preparing for the inevitable clash. It dawned on both of them, that this was the single strike that would decide their battle. They were less than ten feet apart and Snape spun, rising from the ground, high in to the air, his deep ruby red blade rising in to an overhead chop. He began to descend.

Harry did not even bother to spin, strike or even stop moving. He simply charged, turning his right shoulder to face his former potions professor and cast a single spell. Snape, expecting to meet a blade of energy was paralyzed by the first year spell, his momentum completely stopped, his blade held out, almost comically outstretched in front of him. Harry's own blade had been held over his shoulder, and the blade cleaved across in a martial textbook perfect horizontal slash.

Bound by Petrificus Totatlus, Snape could not even blink in shock before the pain flared like a lightning bolt in his mind. He had felt a wind and heat pass through his wrist. But the full body bind did not prevent his eyes from going wide as saucers as he saw his left hand, holding only half of his thirteen and a half inch long, birch with dragon heartsting wand. His right hand, still holding more than seven inches of his wand was lying on the grass. It was poetic as he crashed to the ground, landing on his side, the smell of burnt flesh filling his nostrils, his eyes forced to stare at the unequivocal evidence of the deed: Legion Commander Harry James Potter, had severed the right hand of Death Eater Professor Severus Tobias Snape.

For the first and last time in his life, Snape knew that he had picked the losing side all those years ago. Harry's face bore a grin that was almost a parody of Death's Smile: All teeth, seemingly without gums or cheeks or flesh. The wand of Hermione Jane Granger was poised at the Death Eater's face, "Legilimens!"

The Death Eater's mind shields were formidable, but Harry shaped his mind energy in to a spear: Diamond hard and sharp which smashed in to the shield and to Snape's shock, his shield actually cracked. There was nothing he could do as repeated assaults finally broke the defense and Harry's consciousness surged in to his own.

It was a sea of filth and Snape fought valiantly, but in vain to force the foreign presence from his mind. But the incredible pain in his wrist made focusing his concentration impossible. There was nothing he could do as Harry ransacked his mind with the finesse of a house breaker who knew no one was home during the holidays, taking memory after memory without hesitation.

It was all Snape could do to curl in to a ball upon the ground, shuddering from the pain of not only his missing hand, but also from the violent rape of his mind. "Severus Tobias Snape," whispered Harry Potter, "The memories I have will ensure that you enjoy a long stay in Azkaban prison, the Light will rejoice in the knowledge that the Effingus are not limitless. But I have more pressing matters to attend to." He straightened up, cracking his neck and shoulders and turned to the Legionnaires that had gathered around him, "Report."

"All Effingus neutralized, one Death Eater remains," said Susan quietly, "Area is secure but The Burrow is well," she pointed to the teetering smoking structure, "I'm amazed it's still standing."

"The Weasleys?" he asked quietly, bracing for the worst of it.

"Both fell," she said softly, "Legion casualties are minimal. Three…dead, fourteen wounded, and evacuated. All should make a full recovery."

Harry had tuned out everything after hearing of the twin deaths of Arthur and Molly. They were the closest thing that he had ever known, ever had that could be considered parents. And their sons: Fred and George, his friends… his comrades… his brothers.

He cracked his fingers, wiggling them experimentally as he drew his magic. He carved a series of arcane sigils in the air, leaving burning contrails on the retinas of everyone who saw the sigils. But there were no words, no audible incantation. "Puterviscus!" he screamed with his mind. It was one of those curses than one normally does not hear about, despite what it does, given that in certain incredibly rate circumstances it actually has practical benefits. The dark curse was followed by the same simple first year hex. Severus Snape would not be able to move, to make a sound, but his death was assured.

"Have we heard from any of the other groups?"

"Nothing," replied Terry Boot.

"Fifth-fourth fire team: Gather our dead, and take them to the Manor. The rest split by fire teams, evens to Diagon with First and Second. Third, Fourth and the rest: Hogsmeade! Apparate now!"

Within moments, there was nothing but the smoking, yet still standing Burrow and the Legion Commander. He turned to stare at the Death Eater, petrified upon the ground, unable to move. With a flick of his finger, the man's robes were shredded, revealing his abdomen. It was a mix of purple, grey and black. The skin was distended and splitting open, spilling out gangrene yellow green pus. The smell would get incredibly unpleasant in the next few minutes as the flesh rotted away while it still lived. He cast a simple invisibility charm with his left hand and then waved his wand and hand over Severus Snape, binding a time delayed Fyndfire curse in to the ground upon which the Death Eater lay. Harry leaned over, "I know everything you have ever done: From your betrayal of my mother, to the girls of Slytherin House to the secret of the Effingus."

Waves of agony washed through Severus Snape as the curse continued its deathly work upon his flesh. The curse caused any living tissue it came in contact with to decay with excruciating slowness. Trapped by the intricate weave of hexes and curses, Snape could do nothing as waves of agony shot through his body as the tissues of his body continued to breakdown.

"Die slow, you sick fuck." He whispered before apparating away.

It was almost a day a half before the curse reached his internal organs, and another six hours before his lungs and heart were sufficiently corroded for him to die. When his heart stopped beating, fyndfire hungrily consumed the remains. Severus Snape was reduced to ash and the winds that swept around the Burrow erased his final fate from the historical records entirely.

13


	17. Chapter 76 - Burning

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 76

Burning

The Death Eaters hit three separate locations at the same time: The Burrow, Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. Diagon Alley had been nothing more than misdirection, as their first volley had achieved their objective: number 93, Diagon Alley and Fred Weasely had been eradicated. The fact that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been the first responders to the scene, had been icing on the cake: Each and every Auror had known that they marched to their doom, and nineteen Aurors, and one department head had been slain in the brutal fighting. Seventy-seven Death Eaters were slain, and the Legion had increased the Death Eater body count to over a hundred with ease. But still, they were too late to do more than record the last words of Amelia Bones, to her daughter, "Tell Susan. I love her… tell her, I died… doing what was right, not what was easy."

The true targets that day were the Weasely family, which had been brutally decimated: Fred, George, Molly, and Arthur. Then there was Ginny, her fate still unknown.

The snow crunched underfoot, and it was the first official school visit to the rebuilt village. The Legion knew what to expect. The rest of Hogwarts did not. Indeed, Harry's covert buyout of the Daily Prophet and together with The Quibbler ensured him control of much of the mainstream media in Wizarding Britain. Indeed, the Prophet was fast becoming known as a Paragon of truth and justice. The Legionnaires that had responded to the call knew what to expect. But by the time Harry and his reinforcements had arrived, there was nothing they could do, but contain the blazes and rescue those they could. None of the papers had gone in to the details except for the two numbers: Two hundred and forty seven, Ninety-five.

Two hundred and forty seven dead, ninety-five wounded.

Harry added another set of his own statistics: Fourteen. .

Fourteen children left orphaned. Twelve Legion casualties. One Legion Core member missing presumed dead.

Indeed, many of those who had fought and participated in the abortive rescue efforts had been recalcitent to speak of what they had seen. The few photos – black and white from the Prophet, and in color from the Quibbler," were mere shadows and light compared to the reality.

"Mon dieu," she breathed as she looked around. While the village had been rebuilt, they had stopped at the memorial archway erected in remembrance. Two hundred and forty seven names were carved in gold in to the simple stone.

Beyond it, the ground was still scorched by the flames, giving off a background magic that was powerful enough to melt whatever snow descended upon the ground. A number of plots were still charred ruins: Their owners had perished and there was nobody who wanted to invest or even buy the property in such dangerous times.

"It… looks like London, after the bombing during World War 2," whispered Colin. They made their way down the recently relined pavestone streets towards the town square. Harry paused before a burned out ruin, and knelt next to what looked like a splash of wine from a broken bottle. "It was here," he whispered quietly.

Fleur gently put her hand on his shoulder, "Qu est quis pas Mon Amour?"

"Elle… reste ici," he replied quietly, "She was here. A girl. Eight or nine years old, raven hair, piercing steel grey eyes. She looked like an angel…. Her voice…. It sounded like one too." He was swept back to the events of Halloween, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Harry arrived without a sound via apparition to find that the village burning. Every building was ablaze. The flames rose in to the sky like fingers of a death's hand: The ground floor was completely engulfed. Around him, Legionnaires battled the blaze using fire hose charms and flame freezing charms where they could. The problem was the Fyndfire: They had no way to counter that. Harry tapped his wand to his head and his patronus departed. The answers came within minutes. Ginny and Neville was at the south end of the village – the localized snow storm made that clear enough. Another Patronus–a giant bear - answered that reinforcements from Hogwarts were minutes away.

Harry had stared over low stone walls and iron fences: Bodies were strewn everywhere. Doors were broken, swinging from broken hinges. Glass tinkled and crunched underfoot. Dark Marks floated overhead, almost a dozen of the snake and skull emblems. The taste of death was bitter and acrid: the residue of so many killing curses cast.

A building burned and a whimper drew his gaze from the bright yellow and orange blaze that through leaping light and shadows over everything: there was a small form curled upon the cobblestones, barely ten feet from him.

She was barely half his age. She reminded him of Gabrielle Delacour.

Her green dress was dyed a violently dark emerald green because of her own blood. She was incredibly pale, she was shivering, and Harry was coated in her blood, "Hey stranger," he whispered quietly, "Can you hear me?"

Her eyelids had fluttered open, then closed and open again. She gripped his hand suddenly, the grip of someone who was fighting for their life. He could feel the chill in her body, "Mister?" her whisper had a melodic lilt to it, "I… can't find mommy or daddy." Harry looked a little way down the cobblestone path and saw them: He lay face down eyes staring vacantly towards his daughter. She was lying on her back, robes in tatters, eyes staring sightlessly in to the night sky, her make up marred by tears.

He turned and shifted slightly, reaching to his belt pouch for one of the single use portkeys that would transport her to The Manor. "Mister… mister… I'm cold," she whispered. He cast a quick scanning and diagnostic charm: Two crushed femurs, broken left arm, compound rib fractures, dislocated left hip, ruptured liver and spleen. Intestinal perforation, and a collapsed lung.

He felt the acid sting of tears in his eyes as he knew that there was no magic in the world that could heal this kind of injury. He let the post it note portkey flutter to the ground, "Co…cold," she stuttered. Even if the wounds could be treated, blood loss would kill her, so would magical shock.

He cast a warming charm, a simple piece of magic he had learned years ago, and then a series of numbing charms, before lowering her to the ground. Summoning a piece of wood, he transfigured it in to a rough but soft pillow and laid in beneath her head before transfiguring an equally rough blanket which he gently draped over her, "There now, comfy?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, "Tired, wanna sleep, but wanna see mommy and daddy." Her head sunk down, eyes drifting shut as she struggled to stay awake.

"Go to sleep," his voice cracked, "go to sleep and you'll see mommy and daddy. Just be a… a good girl, and sleep." He ran his hand through her curls as she nodded a fraction. He took her still good hand in his own, and held it. He could feel it. Her magic, her life, ebbing away, "You'll… feel better when you wake up."

"Another one, I could not save," he whispered bitterly, "I couldn't save her either." Nobody needed it explained, that the "her," was not the same as "the one."

"Commander, you alright?" called Terry Boot. He was standing with a Slytherin third year, and Cho Chang, who watched the scene with some concern.

"He's fine!" called Luna. Truth was, none of them were fine. None of them had been fine in weeks. Some of them, she thought bleakly, had not been fine for months. What was worse yet was that they knew that there was nothing they could really do to help each other.

"Come on mate," said Colin, "Three Broomsticks is just around the corner. Reckon we could all do with a Butterbeer before we start shopping for presents." There was no disagreement.

The Three Broomsticks had certainly seen better days. They reached the inn and walked inside. Most of the ground floor had been rebuilt using salvage timbers and stone, many of which still the telltale burn marks from the flames, or the circular scorches from spellfire. Given that it sat on the South side of the village square, it was the center of social life in the village. Small wonder it had been one of the first targets. The tavern was the second building in the village destroyed by the marauding Death Eaters. Their first target had been WWW and George Weasely. The walls showed signs of fresh paint; some of the wooden beams were also cracked and charred. There were a lot fewer tables than before, and the bar was still missing its trademark mirror, and stocked less than a third of the usual number of bottles.

They picked a table close to the bar – indeed they were the only occupied table. Considering the carnage, that fourteen witches and wizards had perished here, they could understand that the taverns reputation had been sullied. Hopefully, it would not stay that way.

Madame Rosemerta was as nimble and agile as ever, waiting at their table the moment they had seated themselves, leaning on a heavy wooden walking stick. "What'll it be?" she asked quietly, subdued. She knew wherever she tread in her own establishment was a spot where someone, possibly one of her regular breakfast rush customers had fallen and died.

"Butterbeer," replied Fleur.

She limped instead of sashaying as she normally did, forced to lean quite heavily on her walking stick. She refused the help of more than one person, and it was something that they could all relate to, understand. Few knew that Madame Rosemary Rosemerta had once been head mediwitch at St. Mungos during the Muggle Second World War, and then again on the front lines during the First Blood War. She had proven her courage and valour during what the survivors were calling, "The Blaze," treating the wounded, supporting the Legions own corps of medics and goblins and Madame Pompfrey after she was pulled from the ruins of her business and home. She had stayed on scene until she passed out due to the limited attention she had paid to her own injuries.

Their companionable silence was interrupted by the return of Madam Rosemerta, who levitated a large tray of drinks in front of her, her other hand clutching the walking stick. There were four flagons of Butterbeer, along with five shot glasses and a bottle of rich amber liquid which glowed with an inner light. The drinks levitated their way around the table, as did the tray. "Here you go," she said.

They tray came to arrest on the table as Rosemerta expertly flicked the shot glasses, one handed across the table so that they came to a rest in front of each of them, "The only bottle from my old stock," she announced, holding it up for them to inspect.

Harry's eyebrows rose a fraction as he read the label, "No wonder you wouldn't let it go that day."

She pulled the cork and the bottle itself seemed to gasp in pleasure as the golden fluid trickled in to the glasses. Three more shot glasses remained on the tray, and they were filled. Nobody said anything about them. Everyone knew who they were for.

"Aren't we a little underage?" asked Colin hesitantly.

"After The Blaze," she said slowly, "You Legionnaires are the only people I would drink it with – and I don't feel like waiting." Suddenly, it was Rosemerta's turn to relive that day, all of it, in the flash of a moment…

She was amazed anyone had survived. In fact, she was amazed she had survived it this long. Flames spread from the walls, and licked at the ceiling beams. The bodies were everywhere, killed by Avada Kedevra and other curses. Some had been blown apart. Proof enough was the blood and viscera upon the walls and ceiling, the cloying smell of copper and death was suffocating.

She was still behind the bar, somehow still alive as she kept extinguishing the flames around her. But it was only a matter of time: The alcohol from the broken bottles kept catching fire. And she could not remember the incantation for the bone mending charm so she could do something about her broken leg: Heal it and get out.

There was an ominous groan, and moments later the ceiling beam had come crashing down upon her already injured leg. She had screamed in pain, losing her grip on her wand which rolled out of her grip and across the floor.

She had resigned herself to her fate, and hoped that the smoke would kill her, or least have her unconscious before the flames got to her. There had been the sounds of crashes, breaking bottles and glass. A bottle rolled off the counter and neatly fell in to her hands. She looked at the label and laughed. Then coughed.

Then she heard voices, "Aquamenti!" a torrent of water doused the nearby flames and to her amazement, a column of stone had erupted from the ground to prop up the roof. Two wizards and witch leapt through what flames still burned and they were around her. She felt and recognized a diagnostic charm as it washed over her. "Leg's broken, crushed under the pillar," he said. She recognized the voice instantly: Harry Potter himself.

"Mr. Potter, I can't feel anything from the waist down," she said with a hint of fear and panic in her voice, "No sense in all of you dying here! Get out! Now!" she ordered. To her disbelief, they had ignored her, "Damnit! You shouldn't be in here trying to save me! Get out before the whole place comes down!" They began healing the minor wounds, applying numbing charms and then lifting the beam off her leg before healing the broken bones.

"We don't do "try" said the other wizard, "We simply "Do." He turned and caught another falling beam with a wand wave and banished it aside, "But I do suggest not lingering here."

"It's a temporary fix Rosie," said Harry, "But it's enough so you can walk out of here," He'd given her an almost cheeky smile together with a roughish wink, "Or would you rather I carry you?" With a hand up, she was back on her feet. Someone returned her wand.

"Thank you," she said.

"Legion ma'am," was the reply. Her face was blurred by a bubblehead charm to help keep the smoke at bay, "It's what we do."

They were forced to blow a hole in the wall to affect their departure, but considering that the wall was already ablaze, it was no loss. As they strode from the burning tavern, Harry had noticed the bottle, held by the neck in one hand.

She blinked, pulling herself back to the present, and hoisted her glass in to the air, "A toast," she said, softly, her voice trembling with emotion. Harry's face was impassive, but his hand was clenched so tightly around the glass that his knuckles were white. "To rebuilding!" the base of her glass, clinked off the rims of each filled shot glass, still on the tray, still in the centre of the table.

"To life!" added Colin, repeating the gesture.

"To surviving" added Luna softly as three more times the heavy crystal chimed.

"To healing" said Fleur, as her glass rang off the gathered shots.

"To revenge," whispered Neville quietly, as his glass kissed those gathered in the center, "To Fred. To George," his voice cracked, "To Ginny."

Harry looked around the table, the eyes of Rosemerta and his friends, "To peace."

It was a prayer, it was hope, in a single word, one they all echoes as they glasses crashed together, "To Peace."

Later that night, alone, in the Room of Requirement, Neville Longbottom stared out the window, on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He watched it all, over and over again, knowing that he should have done something different, done something right. If he had, Ginny would still be with him, instead of wherever she was. It was cruel but he prayed that wherever she was, she was dead as the scene threatened to unfold before his eyes. His trembling hand, reached for the bottle for the umpteenth time, as he sought to drown the nightmare before it unfurled like a banner before his eyes yet again.

The fact was that Neville was already drunker than Harry had ever been, and he still felt he was not drunk enough. He lunged across the Room of Requirement, desperately reaching for the bottle standing on the small table next to an arm chair – all provided compliments of the Room of Requirement, he tripped over his own feet, and crashed to the floor. His teeth came together with an incredibly harsh click, and he narrowly missed biting off his own tongue. Bleary, he struggled to right himself, only for the top of his head to crash in to the table, before he slammed forehead first in to the table. Almost as if adding insult to injury, the bottle teetered and then fell, landing with a resounding thud atop his head, knocking him unconscious, with no place to flee the horror, contained within his own mind, his hand clenched around the only thing he had of Ginnys: Her Legion Ring.

It had all happened so damned fast. One minute they had just emerged from the burning building. The house had been home to a family of five, and all of them were corpses, and there was no doubt they had all been tortured before their execution.

There were no Legionnaires guarding the perimeter as there should have been, instead there were ten spaces of roughed up snow, marking where they fell before their portkeys activated, whisking them to safety.

The blundgeoning hex had caught him full in the chest and he been blasted back against a fence post, punching straight through it before landing in a heap in the garden's rose bushes. Even as he struggled to rise to his feet, Ginny was already in motion, a blur as spells leapt from her wand, cutting down the Effingus. She had dived. The cutting curses had missed, the piercing hex flashed through the open mailbox, taking it apart. The blasting hex blew three fence posts to pieces, sending wooden shrapnel lancing everywhere.

She had rolled, come back to her feet, a shield in front of her, deflecting curses, ready to unleash another spell chain. Neville had seen it, the silver masked Death Eater coming from her right flank, where she was completely exposed. He had raised his wand, bracketed the blurry outline with a trio of stunners – he dared use nothing stronger due to his compromised vision, and he had missed with all three. He tried to shout a warning but his chest was a mass of pain. He couldn't get words out past the pain. Whoever it was, behind the mask, he saw it: Red hair. Fiery red hair, the fiery red tresses of his Ginny, only much shorter.

The Death Eater had tackled her to the ground, using his shoulder like a battering ram. She never stopped fighting, bringing her elbows down hard upon the back of her attacker as they crashed to the ground. There was a series of flashes at close range, a deep red flash, then more red that was not magic: It was wet. It coated the grass. It was blood. And then the scream, that cut and tore at his soul, sundering it.

Stars, static, blackness filled his eyes as he clawed himself to his knees and raised his wand. He cast, and cast, and cast again. He couldn't see, he realized. He couldn't judge the distance. He couldn't hit a target… and he was capable of hitting his target at twenty meters, when it was moving, and no larger than a peanut. She had screamed as he launched himself from the ground, as he aimed his wand skywards, "Oriuntur Bellum Avis!" It would a signal if nothing else. He managed to tackle the Death Eater off Ginny knocking his mask aside. He froze in shock, "Ron?"

Stars burst in front of his eyes as something smashed in to the back of his head. He saw his Ginny, fear written across her face, and then he saw it, the blood splattered across the front of her chest armour, cradling her right hand, slashed apart, three of her fingers and a part of the palm severed before he slumped over. He reached out for her, and managed to only grasp her leg. He smelled something sweet. Honeysuckle?Her shampoo?

When he next awoke, it was to the sound of feet, crunching through the snow, and then Harry turning him over, "Neville?" Harry didn't get a chance to ask the obvious question.

"Ginny," he coughed, stars and static, nausea sweeping through him, "They took Ginny." Harry pulled him to his feet, but he collapsed to his knees, "Ron!" he gasped, "It was Ron!"

That had only been a week before, but for Neville, it was an eternity of agony. But as the last traces of the nightmare vanished, Neville Longbottom, Scion of the House Longbottom, with a blood alcohol level high enough to sink a battleship slipped from unconscious in to a coma as the alcohol continue to mercilessly ravage his body and further pummel his mind….

Days before, she was not really sure how long ago, but it was in the basement of Malfoy Manor, pain filled every fibre of her body, without mercy, tearing through muscle, screaming along her nerves, burning white hot, until all she could see was in her mind was a sharp, white hot light. She had fought down the urge to scream for as long as she could. Determined to remain strong, not to show the fear, the terror she felt to the monster that was enjoying causing her such agony.

Her resistance to screaming, had broken early on, and through the fog of torture, the blinding white light behind her eyes, she could feel her throat growing hoarse, her voice finally break after spending hours screaming until she could scream no more. It could have been days or hours. She could not tell. In reality, it had only been a scant minute under the Cruciatus Curse of Lord Voldemort himself.

She had slumped against the invisible bonds that bound her to the wall of her prison cell, too weak to even raise her head. She was well versed in the after effects of the Cruciatus curse by this time. Her hand no longer hurt – the pain simple and bearable after what she had just been through. She stared down at her toes, taking deep breaths that hurt. She could not prevent herself from screaming perhaps, but she could still die, with dignity. It was all she could do.

She raised her head and stared up at the hairless, pasty white faced, snake faced abomination of Lord Voldemort. There was a trace of surprise, and then something akin to amusement. Of course, thought the Dark Lord. Given Harry's stubbornness, it only stood to reason that the rest of his Legion would be as stubborn and Gryffindorish as he was. No matter. He smiled, and the smile widened as he tasted Ginny's fear. He would have his amusement, and then his Death Eaters would have their fun. But first, he would have his, "Impressive indeed blood traitor. Your ability to withstand pain rivals that of the muggleborn Granger."

"What do you want?" she spat.

"Oh, so many things, Weasley," replied Voldemort, "But for now, a little personal entertainment is all I require: Crucio!"

The curse ripped through her again. She writhed and screamed, her mind blanking out everything but the all-encompassing pain of the curse. In desperation, she retreated, pulling her conscious mind inwards, almost as if she was mentally detaching herself from her body, from the pain. Voldemort abruptly ended the curse upon his plaything. He smiled, "Now, now Weasley," he admonished, "I can't have you taking a nap before you learn a few deliciously painful truths."

He grabbed a handful of her hair, and yanked her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze, "We start with your parents: Dead. Fred and George, those twin practical jokers: Dead. Percy: Also dead, but at least he died in my service. Your brothers Charlie and William on the other hand continue to elude me, but if they are not in Britain, then they are of no consequence. Your brother Ronald on the other hand," Voldemort trailed off almost speculatively him, "Well, we both know what happened in Hogsmeade hmmm?"

She glared in to the eyes of the Dark Lord who had caused her world, her family and her so much pain, and though still in agony managed to spit out the words, "You won't succeed, you half-blood bastard!" She revelled in the expression of anger which creased Voldemort's face even if it was momentary, "Tom Riddle," she ground out, "should have been spanked a little more as a child. You might have then made something good of yourself."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," said Lord Voldemort, "But, I would like you to meet a few people who will be your… entertainers." He laughed, acold, animalistic sound, "Or perhaps more accurately, you shall be their entertainment."

Crabbe, Goyle, stepped out of the shadows wearing identical grins. In the dim light, she could just about make out a fourth figure, standing almost in shadow. But she recognized the blond hair of Draco Malfoy, with his wand raised. "Hello you little bitch," Sneered Malfoy, "I heard about you and Neville. I somehow doubt he'd be able to get it up and show you a good time. We're here to show exactly what a good time, with a real man or perhaps real men are all about. And you'll probably enjoy it, because we won't give you a choice: Imperious!"

She resisted, and she fought, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the curse would overwhelm and wipe away her freewill. There was no telling what they would make her do. But she would at least die, and die with dignity. It was something that Marinshka had showed her, so many months before when she had been learning the elemental magic of the Goblins. Goblin magic differs from wizard magic as the Goblins are fully in tune with their individual magical core, which allows them to cast spells both wandlessly – a wizard's crutch – and without incantation from a young age. Marinshka had demonstrated how someone in tune with their magical core could do two things: The first was fracturing their magical core in a desperate final tactic that would unleash magic in an uncontrollable explosion of destructive power. The second was to project their consciousness across time and space for as long as their magic could sustain them, before they would be forced to return to their body – provided that their magical core had not drained during the projection of their consciousness, causing death.

She made the decision, even as the Imperious Curse spread around her Occulumency barriers, infecting them like the most rabid of cancers imaginable. She had moments left as GinervanWeasely, seventh child and only daughter of the Weasely family and she succeeded: Her core fractured and she drew upon all of the magical energy within her and blasted her conscious mind through the wards surrounding the old house on the hill above the Little Haggleton, across the country to Hogwarts.

"Master?" whispered Draco, "What… what just happened?"

Voldemort stared at Draco, then at the two accompanying heads of cabbage, "She had great control over her magic," he finally said, "True control: She committed suicide using her own magic to kill herself." They believed him. But then again, he was the Dark Lord, their Dark Lord after all. "Draco, you will take her body and deposit it, somewhere appropriate within the castle for them to find, and ensure that you send it with an appropriate message."

"Yes Master."

It would take her almost a week in her spirit form to find Neville, find him sprawled unconscious beneath a small table, next to a chair in the Room of Requirement. Her consciousness invaded his own, tethering on the brink and plunged him in to a coma.

He opened his eyes, and found himself lying upon a field of grass. He could feel the heat and warmth of the sun against his skin. The air was clean, crisp, fresh and new. He stared around him, and then caught the scent borne upon the wind: Honeysuckle. He was dressed in just simple white robes. No armor. No wand. He looked around wildly for a moment.

"She's here," said a voice, a strangely familiar one, "Just over the next hill, on the beach. She doesn't have a lot of time," He turned around to find himself staring at a shocking sight: Hermione Jane Granger.

"Her…Hermione?" he asked.

She nodded, "Welcome to that realm between life and death. You should not be here, and neither should she. You'd best hurry." Hermione pointed over the hill, "Quickly!" Neville opened his mouth to ask a question, "Merlin-damn-you! Ginny is over the next hill! Go!"

He trusted his instincts, all Legionnaires did, and he just knew whatever it was, was not lying as he broken in to a full out sprint. He ran, and kept running. He realized suddenly he was not out of breath, he was not getting winded. He didn't care as he crested the hill. She was there! He would recognize the mane of fiery red hair anywhere.

He ran down the hill, and lost his footing, but somehow, he managed to roll back to his feet, just in time to catch her, as she threw herself in to his arms. The sun was moving across the sky above them, and it would not be long before it set, bringing night down upon them. "Gin," he whispered quietly, tears rolling down his cheeks, "Are you… real? Or is this another nightmare?"

"I'm real enough," she replied, talking in to his chest, "But where we are, I don't have a lot of time."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Her eyes locked with his, the same dazzling deep brown that they had always been. It was the colour that hypnotized him every chance she got. And he had never minded being hypnotized by her gaze, not before today at any rate, "I've seen it all Nev. All of it: Your drinking, your guilt, the pain." None of it, of this is your fault. I hate saying it, but this is war. We are at war, and war means people die. You need to let go of the guilt. If you can do that, the pain will ease and you'll be able to move on with your life."

"Why does it have to be that way?" he asked quietly, "Why can't I stay with you?" Especially if you are real, and you're here."

"Because where we are, is between the worlds of the living and the dead," she answered, wiping away one of his tears with her forefinger, "You have to go back, and I have to go onwards."

"On…." He fell silent, "You… you're…." he hesitated to say it, to make it real and final.

"Say it Neville," overhead the sun moved forward, casting long shadows of both of them, reaching almost halfway up the hill. "You knew, in your heart, when I died. You know, because that was the night you got Dobby to bring you a bottle." She didn't have to specify a bottle of what, "You knew, and you've been in denial. You can't go through life denying things, especially painful truths."

"I'm not…. Not strong enough to go through life alone. I need you," he didn't bother trying to hide his tears.

"You are stronger than you believe yourself to be Nev, you were my knight in shining armour. I want you to remember that night, and remember that you fought for me," the words were a rushing torrent, "You were wounded, you could barely see, yet you fought on. You summoned aid, you fought on." She put her hands on his shoulder and pushed him down on to the sand, and collapsed next to him, "You killed Bellatrix Lestrange in a duel to the death. You are a hero, to the wizarding world, you are my knight, and I will always love you." The shadows behind them lengthened and she looked towards the sun with trepidation in her eyes.

"How long do I have to wait before I can be with you again?" he asked finally.

"Too long, if you wait for me," she whispered, "But if you move on, you could find someone to help you pass the intervening years, or perhaps find someone else to love as you love me."

He shook his head, "I meant it when I said that I would love you, always and forever. Nothing in my life was going right before I met you." He shrugged and smiled weakly, "You remember the Neville Longbottom of before?"

"You mean the Neville Longbottom that used to be terrified of Snape in Potions? Had next to no self-confidence? Was quiet and timid outside of Herbology?" she smiled as she spoke, taking the sting out of her words. "I remember him. I also remember that he was thoughtful, polite, kind and generous." She turned to face the sun, beginning to dip low over the horizon, "I remember the Neville I knew, before Harry Potter and The Legion built up your confidence, and made you in a warrior for the Light, who is still polite, thoughtful, kind and generous." She ran her hand through his hair, "What attracted you to me then, is what made me fall in love with you."

They lay side by side upon the sand, staring up towards the sky, and he instinctively pulled her close, unwilling to let her go, knowing, just knowing that she would have to go when the sun went down. "When I cross over, I'll be able to watch over you. My knight," she whispered, "There are more princesses than me out there."

"You will always be my only princess," he whispered back, taking her hands in his.

Even as he held her in his arms, she could feel her, shifting, changing. "Neville," she whispered, "Don't let them win. Don't let them hurt another like they did me. Fight and win. No mercy, no quarter, bring justice to the enemy."

She began to fade away, almost as if she was rose petals being drawn away on the wind, "Who?" he asked, making a silent vow that echoed her words.

"Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Ronald," her voice whispered in to his ear. He nodded, still holding her hands, "He was there, but it wasn't him. You understand? My brother Ron… he has no soul. Just a shell. They used him for their own ends, and now use his shell."

Suddenly, her hands knotted in the front of his shirt as she pulled him in for a kiss, their last kiss. Their eyes locked and held each other, both of them knowing that they only had these few last precious moments as the clock ticked was a kiss that Neville would savour for the rest of his days, one that would make all the pain relief potions in the world seem like nothing stronger than Butterbeer as he lost track of everything, even time. For those long minutes, nothing was more important that her entire lips.

His mouth crushed hers and without thinking of the future, their tongues collided with each other, both wanting to feast on what they had denied because they both felt they were too young and not ready. She clung to him as her head twisted left, and then turned right. Each time she moved, she drove deeper inside him, almost as if she was welcoming home.

The last rays of the sun faded, their shadows vanished and darkness descended. They finally separated and their embrace tightened, as their lips met, one last final time. Even as he held her in his arms, she could feel her, shifting, changing. "Neville," she whispered, "I love you." She vanished, leaving him lying alone in the sand, holding a single rose that was the same fiery red as her hair.

Her voice was the softest of whispers, borne upon the wind. It was the last thing he remembered before he woke up, lying in a puddle of firewhiskey. His head throbbed, but no more than he deserved as he rose unsteadily to his feet. His wand sprang in to his hand from its dragon hide wrist holster and he cleaned himself up, quickly before calling for Dobby to bring him a hangover cure. He paced back and forth, wondering if everything he had just experienced could possibly be true, jamming his hands in to his pocket as he did so. He felt it and pulled it out, and collapsed in to the chair as he stared at the single rose petal that was the same colour as the hair of Ginny Weasely. He knew. He knew it was all real. The only question that remained was how he was going to get the foursome responsible for taking the witch of his dreams away from him.

He would have his vengeance, he vowed. It took him almost sixteen years to get Bellatrix Lestrange. He could wait a few months to kill four Death Eaters. As Griphook had once said, "The patient, silent hunter catches his prey with minimal effort."

In the ensuing weeks, they mourned the death and loss of Ginnerva Molly Weasely, and did their best to move on, moving between class, homework, and training sessions like automatons but gradually their lives returned to normal – or at least sufficient normalcy, where it not for an event that none of them were particularly looking forward to: The Trial of Lucuis Malfoy. Given the rampant activity of the Death Eaters which few could now curtail, Harry was amazed when the Minister himself appeared at Hogwarts and personally asked for the six of them who had been a the Ministry to bear witness against Lucius before he was handed over to Azkaban and the Dementors.

There was no discussion amongst them. They unanimously agreed. For the moment at least, Azkaban remained beyond the reach of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, though it was double edged at best: Removing the Dementors would drive them in to the arms of Voldemort, despite the best efforts of the Ministry, they had only managed to cull only a few dozen of the creatures as they always attacked in groups of sufficient size to keep the now defunct Department of Magical Law Enforcement at bay while they feasted before vanishing. "Our numbers are limited," Fudge had admitted frankly to Harry, "We have drafted everyone we can spare in to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and there is barely the manpower to mount a guard over the Ministry and Diagon Alley now, and the Azkaban Guard are stretched more than they would like, but we can continue the fight."

Harry nodded, "I heard of your appeals to the foreign Ministries. Have any of them acquiesced to send you… well, the Ministry aid?"

"None as yet," replied the Minister with a shrug and a sigh, "The French and Germans are fearful of being Voldemort's next targets and much of Eastern Europe has rallied behind Voldemort. Indeed, Only the Russians remain truly opposed to Voldemort in the East. American and Australia are seeing to their own defences and fortifications. They see this as a "European problem.""

Harry sighed as well, "There will come a time, when they will need our aid. We'll see how they like being on the receiving end of the shaft," he thought savagely, "I presume that Mr. Malfoy," the words were spat with distaste, "trial is still set to proceed?"

The Minister nodded, "Rescheduled to eight in the morning on the 22nd of November. It's a Saturday so there should be no issues with all of you attending. I will ensure that Dumbledore is notified accordingly."

Their conversation meandered over several other topics, including certification for a number of the Legionnaires who had turned fifteen. Both knew that the parchment would be more useful as toilet paper: Amelia Bones had complicated matters endlessly when she had deputized the entire Legion. Even so Harry would have deploy the Legion as he saw fit, ministry and Dumbledore be damned anyway.

Their monthly meeting drew to a close a half hour later and Harry departed via the Minister's Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, before making his way back to Hogwarts. They still had a war to fight, and win, and a trial in less than week's time.

13


	18. Chapter 77 - Judgement

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 77  
Judgement

While life continued at Hogwarts as best it could, there were more than a few unmistakable changes: The Castle and its occupants were on a permanent war footing. Working with Dumbledore was still utterly distasteful to Harry, but he cooperated with the Headmaster as best he could, delegating the challenges and responsibilities to minimize his contact with him. Harry knew, given half a chance he would hex Dumbledore in the back. Indeed their last conversation had been heated, though rather one sided. Indeed, Harry had forced the aged wizard to reconsider a lot of things that he had taken for granted by the time Harry's tirade had come to an end.

The Headmaster had been trying his usual grandfatherly approach, with numerous references to "the greater good," the "betterment of wizarding kind" but it was his use of the words "fate" and the phrase, "destiny to face and defeat Voldemort" that had made Harry's eye twitch.

The young man clipped the twin braids of hair behind his left ear, took a deep breath to try and calm himself, and failed to do so, "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore: You are the biggest fucking idiot I have ever had the misfortune to meet!" Smoke off dry ice would have been warmer than Harry's tone, "You pin all your hopes on me, and you fail to see the simple failures in your analysis, in your logic, in your interpretation of that god damned Prophecy!"

"Mr. Potter?"

"I've had quite a few months to mull this over, and I'm not a linguist. Hell... I just seem to excel at getting people I love and care about hurt or killed." He laughed darkly, "But I found a few people who are linguists and literary minded. They analysed the fuck out of the prophecy. Every word, every meaning, nuance, subtle hint and suggestion."

"Mr. Potter?"

"Your prophecy does not specify the year of birth. It does not even specify the gender. So why assume it is a boy? It could have been Neville, or one of a half dozen other students! You don't have a continent, never mind a country so perhaps he was born in Africa? Perhaps small town America?" Dumbledore just stared as Harry continued, "Are we talking about Voldemort? Are we talking about a future Dark Lord, one who is not yet born? Could it be a woman who is the Dark Lord of the future?

"Mr. Potter?"

"Perhaps most damning of all Dumbledore," growled Harry, "The prophecy states, "the one with the power to defeat" not that he or she actually would!" Harry took a long breath, to calm his anger, ever so slightly as Dobby appeared with a Butterbeer. Dumbledore struggled to think of the right words to do something to salvage the situation. True that Harry was working with him on the defence of the castle, but he was doing it to protect the students, and his Legion more than anything else.

"Mr. Potter..."

"I swear on Merlin's grave," growled Harry, "That if you question-mark-whine, "Mr. Potter" to me one more time I'll bury you and let the chips fall where they may!"

Dumbledore nodded, knowing full well that Harry -specifically his Goblin lawyers - still had a very, very damaging dossier in their possession. He had idly hoped that Harry would forget about that, but then, he mentally chided himself, that incarnation of Harry Potter had died the night Hermione Granger had been murdered.

"Hell," said Harry, "If I were to use your simplistic interpretation then I could argue that the prophecy was fulfilled before I was even born." Harry's gaze met he headmaster's for the first time, "We both know you were born in July. And having done my homework, I know everything I need to know about you and Gellert Grindenwald." The headmaster's eyes widened a fraction, "Yes. I know everything and frankly don't care about the nature of your relationship - though it is somewhat relevant."

Harry's eyes adopted a hard, almost menacing glint, "Your friend Gellert became more than just a friend, and you were equals in knowledge, power and perhaps greatness before he went Dark." Harry drained his Butterbeer in one smooth pull and tossed it in to the wastebasket on the other side of the room without leaving his chair, "You defeat him, he's locked away and now, neither of you truly lives because there was no closure for either of you. One of you has to die so the other can get closure, make peace and move on."

For the first time in a very long time, the eyes of Albus Dumbledore welled up with tears, of sadness, pain and a grief that he had buried for almost half a century and never truly dealt with. Harry ploughed on, "Technically, the prophecy is fulfilled. Technically, it was fulfilled the night I vanquished Voldemort with the power I know not, because I vanquished, or defeated him, with some power that I did not know at that time."

Harry rose to his feet, "You thrust this burden upon me as a child, you made my life hell, and yet here I stand, taking on the burden to save a world and society that seems incapable of looking after itself. I hope you're proud, Albus Dumbledore, of the lives you have manipulated, and destroyed, all for the greater good of wizarding society. Next time you send your Order of the Phoenix in to battle, consider marching alongside them, facing the spells of the Death Eaters and their Effingus, and the nightmare chill of the Dementors. Show that you have some honor, some notion of loyalty instead of doing what is easy and sitting behind your god damn desk while a teenager leads teenagers and fights your fucking war! "

The truth of it all finally hit home with the Headmaster, who was left staring and talking with Fawkes until the small hours of the morning, until he was finally forced to admit, and acknowledge that he had gotten everything, hopelessly wrong. Perhaps... he hoped, there was a possibility of redemption for all that he had done wrong, while trying only to do what was right. Indeed, the actions of Albus Dumbledore would fit the maxim, "the road to hell is paved with good intentions" perfectly.

Saturday the 22nd of November, some three weeks after Halloween, and The Blaze, at 11:45 in the morning, the fireplace in the Ministry Atrium roared and flared green. Two figures sauntered from the flames, dressed in black robes with red and silver trim, wands in hand, loose and ready. The eyes of more than one person whipped back and forth between these two figures.

Percy Weasely took a stiff step forward, "On behalf of the Ministry of -"

The man turned, and put a finger to his lips. Behind him, his companions completed her sweep and nodded, "Site secure Commander." The flames blazed green once more and a silhouette appeared, back lit by the fire. Minister Fudge breathed expectantly as the figure walked into the light and smoothly grasped the Minister's extended hand, "Minister Fudge,"

"Welcome, welcome, Mr. Potter," said Fudge.

"You arrive cautious of your own safety," remarked someone standing behind the minister with a sharp nod, towards the half dozen Legionnaires. Harry's eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze upon the speaker, and then raised his eyebrow towards the Minister.

"Mr. Kingston, commander of my bodyguards."

"The Legionnaires insisted," said Harry, "Given the rampant activities of the Death Eaters."

"This is the Ministry of Magic!" Kingston practically bristled, "There is no threat to your safety here."

"We prefer to check that sort of thing for ourselves," she flicked back her hood as she met Mr. Kingston's gaze for the first time. Her silver eyes seemed to bore in to his for a moment.

"Luna," Harry scolded softly.

"My apologies, Harry," She said, "But we Legionnaires prefer to check that sort of things ourselves...sir."

Kingston almost smirked as he studied this wo-child - Luna, was it? - Up and down, "A child?" he said with a mocking tone, "I thought the Legion were warriors."

She fixed Kingston with an unblinking, hard stare that promised violence and repeated his head to toe assessment, "A man?" she enquired. The other still hooded Legionnaire sniggered ever so slightly. "I know a real man," her voice took on a slightly dreamy tone, "and the things I let him do to me -"

"Button it," said Harry, "Both of you." He turned to face Kingston, "Let's not get off on the wrong foot, but I will not reprimand my friends for taking every precaution."

"What if they disrespect their elders?!" Kingston said.

Harry nodded, "Of course. The moment I hear one of them do so, I will reprimand them."

"Well, I'm pleased that you could be here," said Fudge, trying to brush over the awkwardness, "I presume that you are ready?" Harry nodded politely, shifting his body ever so slightly. It put his back to Kingston and created a bubble of privacy around the Minister and Harry, "Well just tell the truth and justice will be served. After all, you are the star witness to these events, but just a witness."

"Indeed," said Harry. He found himself fighting the urge to throw up at having to work with the Minister: The same man who had made his life hell for over a year, and tried to have his wand snapped some fifteen months before. Politics is politics, Harry realized, and would always be beyond time, logic and the "magic" of common sense. "I'll see you in the Courtroom Minister."

Fudge smiled at Harry and left, heading towards the bank of elevators beyond the repaired Fountain of Magical Brethren. The cordiality of the exchange had been seen and noted by everyone walking through the atrium at the time. Harry waited until Fuge was out of sight. He adjusted the cloak over his shoulders, ensuring that the hood was properly arranged before turning to the equally hooded figure on his right, "Who do I look?"

She took a moment to study him, from the tips of his basilisk hide boots, through to the belt which held an incredible plethora of potions and other devices, through to his vest, pauldrons, and gorget, partially hidden by his cloak. "Like a hero, ready to conquer the world." She kissed him gently on the cheek.

"Very kind," he smiled slightly, "Thank you. Now, how do I really look?"

"Very tired," she said, matching his smile with one of her own.

As the players took their places within the courtroom located in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, it was clear to all. Whether prosecution or defence, that the trial of the decade, if not the century was about to start. In Hogwarts itself however, a trial of a different sort was about to begin. The Legion had actually debated having a single member of the Core stay back, just to oversee things in case the worse should happen and the Death Eaters actually attack. Neville had wound up with the duty simply because of what he had lost. True they had all lost friends in the Blaze, but Neville had suffered perhaps the greatest loss that any of them could imagine – except perhaps Harry. But then, Harry had truly been able to find a sense of closure, having witnessed everything that happened, and having even seen first-hand how she had died.

That was one pain, or perhaps blessing that Neville had been denied, and despite all he had seen and encountered in what he called a sojourn to the land of the dead," He still did not know how Ginny had died. Fate, it seems is not without a certain sense of irony.

The unfortunate third year was a Ravenclaw, who came running in to the Great Hall, just before noon. She was halfway between crying and screaming in absolute terror, as she tripped and then skid across the flagstone floor of the great hall. Only fragments of words escaped her until she finally drew one long breath, "dead… second floor loo… she's DEAD!"

Professor McGonagall shushed her slightly, "Ms. Abernathy, Moaning Mrtyle has been dead for more than fifty years. She's a ghost and cannot harm you, or anyone else in anyway…. "

The third year stamped her foot, almost imperiously, "Not the ghost! There's a dead girl! Red hair! A body lying up there right now! Murdered!" Her cries were audible the length and breadth of the Great Hall. Neville practically exploded out of his seat. McGonagall paled and quickly followed him. Neville only beat her to the infamous second floor corridor by scant seconds

Just like his second year, when Hermione, Ron and Harry had discovered the foot high letters scrawled in charmed blood, "Enemies of the Heir, Beware!" He remembered the sight of Filch's cat, petrified and hanging in mid-air. He could smell something far worse now. The scent of copper that left the harshest of all metallic tastes in the mouth, one that he knew first hand from his duel with Bellatrix Lestrange: Death. He crossed the corridor and kicked the door open, wand raised and ready. The smell slammed in to him with an almost physical force, the few bites of lunch and his breakfast threatening to rise up and make him violently ill. A single sound escaped him, one that encapsulated weeks of repressed, hidden pain and anguish that roared in his ears like the thundering of Niagara Falls.

She lay, sprawled across the wet stone floor. Her eyes were blank, glassy orbs staring at the ceiling with her mouth open, without expression. She looked strangely at peace, her head, and hair resting in a halo of her own blood. Her armour was cut, torn, and broken, as was the undersuit they all wore. The streaks of red, the splashes of blood that marred the walls, ceiling, even the floor were testament to the unimaginable tortures they must have inflicted upon her.

Neville swallowed hard, shaking with unmitigated anger as the students and professors gathered, stunned in to complete silence at the door. He dropped to his knees and gently ran his fingers through the fringe of hair that lay peacefully across her forehead. There were tangles and blood soaked knots but it was still Weasely red, still soft and silky to the touch. He ran his fingers down her face, closed her eyes and mouth, giving her a semblance of peace. He rose mechanically to his feet and his eyes raked across the mirrors, cracked and shattered, sprinkled with blood. The messages finally caught his eye.

"No more blood-traitor redheads for England. "

"She was the best I've had for a muggle lover."

"She fought like a wild cat. Pity we had to declaw her."

They went on and on, one message after another, written in her blood. He squeezed his eyes shut against the rush of hot tears. He had known, but he had not known, it had been like this. He removed his robe, and gently laid it over her broken form. Standing in full armour and war gear, he turned towards the doorway, when he saw the parchment pinned to the wall with a metal spike. This one caught his attention more than the rest: It had his name on it:

"If she was saving herself for you Longbottom, too bad I got her. And now you'll never have her!"

Neville… snapped.

Magic flared for an instant and exploded outwards. Mirrors shattered and the toilet stall doors disintegrated, sending knives of broken glass and splinters flying everywhere. Neville was at the centre of the maelstrom. Hands clenched he stalked towards the door, only to find his way blocked by Professors Vector and Sprout. His hazel brown eyes, normally soft and gentle flashed dangerously, "Move," he said. Both professors hesitated. They knew what he was about to, but both professors wondered, whether they could stop him as magic flared behind him, whipping at their hair and robes as he flexed his wrist and his wand appeared in his hand.

The professors stepped aside. They knew they could not stop him, and only Professor Sprout had the courage to put a hand on his shoulder, halting Neville in mid step, "Neville… please don't do anything you could regret."

As part of the Legion's defensive plans for Hogwarts Castle, they knew the location of every Common Room and through Rowena they had access to them all. He came to a halt before a stretch of blank wall close to the Dungeons of Hogwarts. He could not speak Parseltongue, but then he had no need to, "Rowena!" he screamed, "Either you open it, or I will obliterate it!"

She could feel the sheer power thrumming through him, and knew if she denied him he would kill himself trying to gain access. The door slid open obligingly and the gaggle of younger Slytherin students stared at him, not wondering who he was, but what kind of insanity would make a Gryffindor invade the sanctuary of the House of Serpents, alone. "Where are they!" he roared. They stared at him, blanched and cowered immediately. Legion or not, none had ever seen Neville anything but kind, polite and thoughtful off the battlefield.

"W-whe-re's w-wh-who?" stuttered a fourth year who cowered as the tip of Neville's wand pointed in his direction.

"The seniors of this house!" he screamed, "The Death Eaters! The traitor to Gryffindor Ron Weasely! Draco Malfoy! Crabbe! Goyle! Parkinson! Where! Are! They!" A second year boy caved as a wave of magic smashed furniture and several of the more unfortunate students mercilessly in to the walls of the dungeon common room.

"They—the—ey left! They found something in the Room of Requirement that gives them a way in and out of the castle! They moved it from there!"

"Where?" he snarled, "Quit stalling or I will put you under the Imperius and if you're lucky that's all I'll do!" his voice crawled with sinister malice.

"D-D-Dungeon Seven!"

Neville grabbed a fistful of the boy's robes, drawing his face to within an inch of his own, "Ginerva Weasely lies dead in a second floor toilet. Your classmates murdered her. You are partially accountable. But someone else will decide your fate!" He hurled the young boy back and stalked from the common room, not stopping as Professor Vector hurried in to the Common Room. She breathed a sigh of relief: given that there was significant furniture damage, and a few pairs of soiled trousers… things could have been a lot worse she realized.

The door to Dungeon Seven was blasted to kindling, as was the frame and the hinges that had kept the six inch thick English oak door upright for over a century. The Death Eaters were gathered at the far end of the room, and did not hesitate: A dozen wands cut loose at once, bracketing the doorway with magic and curses of the darkest varieties.

Neville was already in the room under the cover of an invisibility spell. He cast indiscriminately, cutting down two in a shower of blood. A third was banished in to wall with a sickening "crack" as its bones broke, leaving a shallow crater in the wall.

Neville saw a flash of robes disappear in a cabinet set along the far wall and adjusted his aim. A spell chain of blasting, cutting, and piercing charms ripped across the room and in to the piece of furniture. Only ten were left standing, their eyes wide with shock and horror as their escape was obliterated before their eyes. They turned to face him and he could see naked fear upon each and every face before him. He did not care.

Crabbe blinked stupidly as his arms were severed, moments before his head was lopped from his shoulders.

Daphne Greengrass screamed in agony as a bolt of flames smashed and set her robes ablaze. She dropped to the floor, rolling in a futile attempt to extinguish them as conjured water had only aggravated the Fyndfire. The flames licked at her flesh and she screamed, and would continue screaming for a long time to come.

He recognized two Hogwarts alumnus: Flint and Bole, standing shoulder to shoulder. A wave, twist and twirl of his wand saw a net of flames leap from the end of his wand to coil around the pair, tying them together. The smell of burnt flesh, sound of sizzling flesh filled the air as the remaining Death Eaters stared in shock at the juggernaut of destruction that had cut and continued to cut a bloody swatch through their ranks.

"I yield!" shouted Draco Malfoy, throwing his wand down. The remaining five Death Eaters quickly followed suit.

"I know," growled Neville, "But I don't care." A wave of charms and simple hexes and jinxes enveloped them. The disarming charms did nothing, but they were blasted off their feet, bound and restrained within seconds. Neville waved his wand, and suddenly, there was no shattered door or frame: There was only a blank stone wall. "You fucked with Harry Potter. I would have killed you for that, in a fair fight, or any kind of fight. But you took my Ginny from me. If she had been slain in combat, I would probably just kill you."

He reached up, tearing a fine length of silver chain, and hurled it at the feet of the restrained Death Eaters, "Those," he gestured to the rings upon the chain, "are promise rings." He picked up Draco's wand, and rolled it between his fingers as he holstered his own, "You took more than a girlfriend, you took the woman I would have one day called my fiancé, and then my wife. You took more than a life: You took away the life I would have had." He levitated the first of the Death Eaters and stuck him to the wall with a simple sticking charm, "The professors, probably know where you are, know where I am, and in all likelihood, do not care. But then, I don't care if they do know."

"And I'm not dumb enough to use my own wand – priori incantatem and all that," he snarled, "But I have to congratulate you, in picking the perfect place because there is no one, who will hear you scream." He drew on his magic, as the sickly bolt of red-orange energy built up on the tip of the wand that belonged to Draco Malfoy, "I claim the rights of a future husband wronged, as judge and executioner: I sentence you to death, a sentence to be carried out immediately, in a manner of my choosing: Crucio Maximus!"

The screaming began….

8


	19. Chapter 78- Jury, Execution

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 78

Jury, Execution

Lord Voldermort stood before the ranks of fifteen chosen Death Eaters, with Polyjuice Potion in the flasks upon their hips, Portkey's on lengths of cord worn around their wrists. He gave a mental sigh. The blend of alchemy, and muggle sciences that had made the Effingus possible had been both exacting and tempremental. Indeed, it was only the fact that extensive use had rendered much of it unstable and as such forced this deviation from his original plan. But no matter. He could bolster his ranks by some thousands, and eliminate the risk of total exposure. "My Death Eaters, do you know what must be done?"

"Yes my Lord!" Their voices answered him as one.

"Remember, that it is essential that Lucius Malfoy dies before he can testify. Any other members of the Wizengamot, and Potter's Legion who happen to get in your way must die. Remember that you are not to surrender. You are to keep the Aurors distracted and off balance, which will give the rest of us time to carry out our own stratagems.

"Master," asked the Effingus leading the mission, who bore the face, bearing and sycophantic manner of Flint Senior, "What do we do if Potter, Fudge or Dumbledore engage us? Do we kill them?"

"Fudge, you are to leave completely unmolested. He has yet to truly play his part in events. Dumbledore, Potter and any of his ilk you are to eliminate - if possible."The Dark Lord has no doubt that the Efffingus were no match unless they had the advantage of numbers. Twenty Effingus: They would be hindrance and a pest at best, unless the fates were kind enough to grant them a clear shot from behind. "Remember to make your escape when you receive the signal. Fail me in this Flint, and I shall ensure that Death will be the kindest fate imaginable."

"I will not Master. We will prove our worth and dedication to our cause." Voldemort's rictus of a smile contained enough evil to cause a stone to bleed, and enough to make the bowels of the gathered twenty foot soldiers spasm in terror.

Harry and the Legion took their seats within the courtroom, one that bore the faint air of intimidation, given that Harry had told the Legionnaires about his own experiences in the very same room. They had front row seats amongst the various spectators and the full Wizengamot, with Dumbledore in his position as Supreme Mugwump. The Minster was amongst the last to take his place.

Albus Dumbledore banged the gavel before him and silence descended across the courtroom, "Good Morning. Today we are gathered for the trial of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. Bring in the defendant!"

A noticeably thin, almost emancipated Lucius Malfoy was brought in to the courtroom and placed in to the central chair. The chains wrapped around the man's arms and legs, pinning him in place. For those used to the sight of a confident, well dressed and arrogant in the finest of robes from Twilfit and Tattings, this was a step down. Though the robes were still recognized as some of the finest money could buy, they were frayed at the edge and stained black. In many ways, Lucius Malfoy looked more like a Dementor than anything else.

"This trial will now commence, in the matter of the Ministry of Magic versus Lucius Malfoy. I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, and I will be presiding. Assisting me will be Senior Undersecretary Amos Diggory and Senior Assistant to the Minister Reuban Kingston. On behalf of the Ministry of Magic and the people of wizarding Britain, I will lead the prosecution.

"Ladies and Gentleman of the Wizengamot, the defendant is charged with the following: Of being a servant, known as a Death Eater to the self-styled Lord Voldemort, a total of 147 uses of the Unforgivable Curses, attempted murder against Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Colin Creevey, Fred Weasely, George Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Ginerva Weasley, and Fleur Delacour. There are a number of lesser charges and the Ministry will prove all of them."

"Does the defendant wish to enter a plea at this time?"

Gone was the arrogance and sneer, "I am not guilty." It was the hollow voice of a broken man.

"Minister Fudge, you may call your first witness."

"The Ministry calls Harry Potter to the witness chair."

It was knuts to galleons that Harry would be first, and came as no surprise as he walked up and took his seat in the witness chair, placing the Wizengamot to his left, and Malfoy Senior some five meters to his right. The palpable aura of rage and hate radiated from Lucius as he registered the name, and face of his son's arch nemesis. The same arch nemesis who had crippled his family financially. So much so that Malfoy had no legal representative. Harry had taken the initiative and ensured through liberal "donations" made by Gringotts on his behalf that no lawyer or advocate in the country would even consider acting as the defense council for Lucius Malfoy.

"Mr. Potter, will you take a Wizard's Oath to tell the truth?"

"Yes ma'am, I swear such an Oath." The process was quick and a flick of his wand proved that he still had all of his magic.

"Good, please state your full name, age, and place of residence for the record."

"Harry James Potter, I'm sixteen years old, and I reside in… a secure location, under a Fidillius Charm with myself as the Secret Keeper." Granted it was not a lie, but a way of evading telling the truth. Harry could help but think that the Goblins were right: Veritaserum meant you could not lie. Did not mean you could be cunning as a Slytherin in the long grass.

"And you are an emancipated minor, with full adult privileges and responsibilities are you not?"

"Yes ma'am."

"What is your relationship, if any, to the defendant?"

"Blood enemy." The calm matter of fact statement seemed to echo around the gallery and the Wizengamot as they took in the full implication of those two words. There were a few questions that were totally trivial in nature, to establish the pattern of contact, or rather conflict between Harry and Lucius, going back to 1992, the end of his second year and confrontation over the diary and Dobby.

The questions would go on, confirming the rebirth of Lord Voldemort, they skipped a number of questions by simply using a pensieve to show the memories of the battle of the Department of Mysteries.

The rest of the trial followed a similar pattern as the few Legionnaires who had fought and survived – Colin Creevy, Luna Lovegood and Fleur Delacour - answered the questions and had their memories reviewed in turn. The Ministry called forth Mr. Ollivander to confirm that the wand in Ministry custody – Elm and Dragon Heartstring – was indeed the wand of Lucius Malfoy, and a Priori Incantatem revealed an incredible array of curses, both Unforgiveable and undeniably dark. Indeed, several members of the Wizengamot looked rather green or ghostly white. What was not lost on Fudge, or Dumbledore was the way the Legionnaires simply sat there, unmoved by what they saw.

In another part of the Ministry of Magic, the twenty strong team stepped out a fireplace that had been "accidentally" connected to the Floo that morning, which was left unattended. They bided their time until finally they received their signal from an ally that Lucius was being moved from his isolated holding cell to the courtroom. The switch was executed flawless and Lucius Malfoy strode in to the courtroom with a confident stride with strong even steps as he crossed to the witness chair. He was every inch the proud pureblood that had been wrongfully picked up for questioning, not a man that should have been somewhat on edge, if not slightly unhinged due to a number of months in the care of the Dementors of Azkaban.

"Please state your name, age, and place of residence for the record."

"Lucius Titus Malfoy, age 41, Malfoy Manor in East Cornw..."

Lucius never got a chance to say another word: The doors to the courtroom imploded, sending wooden rubble flying in every direction. There were screams of absolute terror as Lord Voldemort himself strode across the courtroom, surrounded by Death Eaters, half of whom maintained a solid line of shield spells while the rest fired curses and hexes in every direction, forcing everyone to take cover as they indiscriminately blasted, and burned the entire courtroom. Voldemort reached the still chained Lucius Malfoy and with his wand tip six inches from the man's chest cast, "Avada Kedevra!" Lucius Malfoy head slumped and came to rest on his sternum, dead.

From behind relatively good cover, Harry spared the corpse a few words, "Shit. I was just starting to like him." The Minister had dropped to the floor with a squeak. Dumbledore and several members of the Wizengamot were shielding the others. The initiative clearly rested with the Death Eaters. Harry took one look at the situation and shook his head, "If that's Voldemort, I'm a god damn Death Eater. That's not a yew wand, and Voldemort, the real Voldemort, does not shield."

Harry had seen enough. "My mark: Pattern Shield breaker!" The Death Eaters had been playing fast and loose with powerful spells, meaning that they would tire quickly and would then either regroup behind their shields and then, being the cowards they were, attempt to flee.

It came just as expected: those on the offensive ceased fire and dropped in to cover behind their comrades, most likely taking a moment to recover from their furious assault. It was the only opening that they needed. "Cast!"

The Legionnaires rose and collectively unleashed a spell chained barrage of their own: Overconfident perhaps, the Death Eaters maintained their shields, and paid for it as a half dozen blasting hexes turned the solid flagstones in to a hailstorm of stone shrapnel. Half of the Death Eaters maintaining shields collapsed, screaming in agony as knives of stone cut through the flesh of their legs, and in several cases severed lower limbs as well. The follow up spread of stunners smashed in to the exposed Death Eaters. The barrage rocked "Voldemort" backwards, and the entire courtroom let out a gasp of shock as three stunners smashed in to him.

It was almost comical as he was knocked to the left, then the right before the final stunner crashed in to the snake like visage of the Dark Lord, spinning him backwards head over heels, before he landed quite literally on his head with the snap of breaking bone that rang across the battle zone. Surprisingly too many caught on the sidelines, the Death Eaters did not surrender, did not stop. If anything, they continued their near relentless assault.

The clean up took only minutes before the Legionnaires were moving amongst them, removing wands and portkeys, binding those still alive, while the dead received a cutting charm to the neck, ensuring that they would stay that way.

"This… isn't right," muttered Luna, shooting a side long glance towards Harry.

"Yeah," he replied quietly, wand still raised, "It was… almost too easy."

"They could have fled," added Fleur, "They could have retreated, escaped. There was no one, nothing barring their escape… it was almost as if…"

"Delaying action," breathed Colin.

"Minister!" shouted Harry, "Get a situation report: Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Azkaban, everywhere! This was…"

A silvery white shadow passed through the walls and landed next to Kingston, "Azkaban Guards! Dementors have turned! Death Eater assault in progress! Request immediate reinforcements!"

While Effingus Flint and his people were causing mass chaos in the Ministry, in a display of perfect execution of a multi-part operation, Voldemort himself lead the assault of over a hundred of his followers, having arrived by enchanted boat on to the Island of Azkaban. Dark clouds hung heavy over the island, the salt from centuries of sea spray crunched underfoot. Puffs of breath wreathed their faces as they walked, passing within the wards of Azkaban itself, before activating portkeys that took them directly into the warden's office at Azkaban. There they met Deputy Warden Stephan Matthews, who was promptly executed before the alarm could be raised.

From the window of the Wardens office, Voldemort nodded and his lieutenants dispersed, directing his troops to take up positions, while he did what had to be done. But for a moment, he merely stared out across the courtyard towards the reason he had come to Azkaban in the first place.

The wizarding prison was over a thousand years old, and since its construction, sunlight had never graced the stone, sand or even the waters that surrounded the island prison. Why exactly the sun had never touched the island, no one really knew. Some said it was a curse cast by witches and wizards fleeing persecution. Some say it was the last act of a desperate enemy about to be overrun. Another rumor stated that it was a failed ritual involving dozens, if not hundreds of Dark wizards and a Dark Lord from a time long forgotten. Some whispered that it was that failed ritual that led to the creation of the Dementors. It certainly helped explain why the Dementors gravitated towards the island prison, and the unfortunate souls trapped within.

The truth was possibly far more malignant: Within the labyrinthine interior of the prison, there were entire areas that had been stripped, rebuilt, reused and completely forgotten about, and that somewhere within the twisted and cursed bowels of the rock, in the depths of the bedrock, there was a gate to the infernal realms of demons, gods and Merlin alone knew what else.

Popular opinion had long had it that the Dementors were the sole guardians of Azkaban Prison. True enough, but the prison itself was also the responsibility of a fixed garrison of some two hundred hit wizards known as the Azkaban Guard. These men and women oversaw the administration of the prison, and those few prisoners not in higher security areas not patrolled by Dementors.

Lord Voldemort waved his wand, blowing out a large portion of the wall and window, sending it crashing in to the courtyard below and leapt from the window. He took flight, fluttering gently towards the Spire tower which dominated the courtyard, and indeed towered over the entire island. It was the highest point on the island.

Warden Eshan Montgomery Jayatilaka, half Indian, half British, former Auror and Hit Wizard watched the figure floating across open ground. He could clearly recognize it. There was no mistaking the billowing black robes or the snake face of the, thing hovering towards him. Eshan watched the view, which grew bleaker as rolling clouds flitted in some two hundred meters above the ground, turning the normally thick heavy air wintery cold. His eyes traced the outline of the outer walls of the fortress and then came to rest once again upon the figure of Lord Voldemort who had just come to a rest upon the outer edge of the catwalk that ran around the outside of the Spire.

Eshan closed his silvery grey eyes and clenched his hands, feeling not for the first time that no matter how realistic his fingers felt, that there was no escaping the fact that six of his fingers – three on each hand – were actually not his original fingers. The Death Eaters had tortured him when they had captured him. But he had given them nothing. When they had tortured his wife and daughter, he had given them nothing because he had nothing to give them. He was a Hit Wizard at the time. He only knew his mission. Nothing else. He rolled his shoulders, working wiry muscles in his shoulders and arms loose before cracking his neck. The full cold of the winter wind, the ocean's salty spray and the encroaching dark clouds hammered at him unmercifully, but the light of the Spire Tower was enough to see what approached.

There was nothing else. He waved his wand, lighting the lamps along the walls. Another wave saw the crackling embers explode with new life, throwing light across the room. But he knew full well he was not going to find any warmth here. He stared in to the column that punctured the tower itself. Indeed, the Spire Tower had probably been built around the column. Nobody – not even the Unspeakables knew what it really was, and despite all their theories, they could confirm only two things with any degree of certainty: It was magic solidified, and at least as old as the island itself. Warden Montgomery chuckled in a self-depreciating fashion: He was using it to provide light to greet darkness. He shook his head at the sheer insanity of it all as the air temperature dropped several degrees lower.

"Lord Voldemort."

"Eshan Montgomery," said the Dark Lord of the British Isles, "I am surprised to find you here." A single curse streaked past Eshan's left ear, close enough for him to feel the oily clammy touch of death, and smell the decay inherent to the killing curse.

Eshan did not move, but rather he sighed, "Overconfident?"

"Absolutely certainty," replied the Dark Lord, "There is no need for confidence when one is certain of victory." He was tall, taller than Eshan expected in a simple black robe. His face was more snake like than human with the flat slit nose, and bloody red eyes. "Confidence implies something remains unknown. I leave absolutely nothing to chance."

"So why not just kill me and have end to it?" countered Eshan calmly. His mind raced, weighing and discarding numerous potential strategies in the time it takes one to blink. He knew he would be dead in a matter of minutes. But every second he could delay Lord Voldemort here, would be a few extra seconds for the rest of his people. There was no doubt about that, but if he could buy the others time, even a few extra seconds. They might be able to organize a defence, and perhaps hold out long enough for reinforcements to come to their rescue. A slim chance, a small hope. It was all he had. Eshan smiled, "After all, you know exactly who I am, Tom."

"It is a shame," said Voldemort, "That we who were once friends during our years at Hogwarts are now standing on opposite sides. And considering that we were once… friends… I have no doubt that you have some questions." Voldemort's explanation was practically a whisper as he slowly began to circle. Eshan did likewise in the opposite direction, "So how does a decorated Auror and Hit Wizard with a reputation as a hunter of Death Eaters, responsible for the deaths of nine of my followers and the capture of two more, wind up working as the Commander of the Azkaban Guards, and Warden of Azkaban?"

Eshan smile was cold, and all teeth, "I did my job then, and I do my job now. When your Death Eaters took my family, and then six of my fingers... Let's just say despite the best that magic can do, holding a wand for long periods of time still hurts." Eshan drew his wand with a slow deliberate movement, "But I doubt that it matters much, given the… evil standing before me."

"There is no such thing. Magic is simply there, power to be taken, and used by those with the strength of will and force of mind to make the word their own. But come Eshan, you never answered my question: Why did you come to the place considered by so many to be the very worst in the only world that matters?"

"The Job. Duty. Responsibility. Loyalty. Honour." Said Eshan with a shrug, "I have nothing left. Your Death Eaters took everything from me. No family, no friends. Nothing to lose so what else was I supposed to do?"

The smile made Voldemort's face look slightly more human for a moment, before it expanded in to the classic rictus of death, "A fair answer, old friend."

"We have not been friends for years!" spat Eshan, "But, you ask a question, I suppose you could answer one question of my own?" Voldemort nodded ever so slightly, "Why are you here? For the Tower? Like every self-styled Dark Lord before you? I somehow expected something… more original."

"Three questions Eshan," Voldermort said as his rictus seemed to grow wider, "I am not here for the Tower… at least, not in the traditional sense. I am here for the prisoners. The Tower houses the wands of over five thousand prisoners. The Tower is pure magic, and it sustains many of the enchantments that make Azkaban, Azkaban. But it is the wands that hone the magic. The wands belonged to the prisoners, and when I free the prisoners , they convert, or they die. Simple."

"I see," said Eshan as he raised his wand for what he knew was the last time, "That leaves us, with nothing to discuss." He bowed slightly, and bit down on the urge to swallow in fear. Voldemort returned the gesture in kind and both men adopted duelling stances.

Twenty-seven seconds later, the tip of the Tower was in ruins, its walls and ceiling blasted apart. The narrow metal platform swayed precariously, its railing had been shattered in to over two dozen fragments. One had punched through the back of Eshan's left hand, another had reduced his right knee to a mass of broken bone and blood, two had perforated his stomach and the last to strike had torn through his chest. He choked once as his own blood welled up in his throat, as he stared in to the eyes of evil. "Avada Kedevra," said Voldemort softly.

A total of thirty-four seconds had elapsed, and Warden Eshan Montgomery Jayatilaka of Azkaban Prison was dead having done his duty to the last.

The light of the tower fizzled, the stream of light pointing the heavens flickered, and suddenly there were no wards covering the island. From within the thousands of prison cells that were scattered across the island came the cries of thousands of voices, each one reunited with their wand. Doors shattered, stone crumbled, steel melted as the prisoners broke out in what would be forever remembered as the Azkaban Rebellion.

The alarm had gone out, and the Guards rallied across the prison, fighting back to back against Dementors, Death Eaters and the prisoners. The Death Eaters had been quick to raise their own wards, and every member of the Guard knew, they were as good as dead.

The guards held firm against wave after wave of assaults, but the sheer number of the enemy was beginning to take its toll. They struggled to maintain a cordon around the main prison complex, but there were too many avenues of attack to defend against. Azkaban, was lost. The last clear order to come down from the Senior Guard Commander was to regroup at the portside docks and evacuate.

Struggling to coordinate the defence, the Guards could only watch helplessly as position after position was overrun, until they were literally fighting their way around the prison in groups ranging from two or three to as many as a dozen. On more than one occasion, different groups of retreating Azkaban Guard would bump in to each other, turn, stand their group and fight to the last. More than one of the valiant defenders opted to shatter their own magical core, their own flesh burning away as raw magic leapt about, incinerating their foes with waves of raw magic.

Guard Jan Stratus spun low beneath a cutting curse and fired back, "Iugolus Patronum!" The beam of light speared an already wounded Dementor and the demonic creature imploded. She ran forward, six others behind her and they emerged in to the main courtyard in to a scene of chaos: Dozens of bodies littered the ground. Some kissed, mostly obliterated by spell fire. Some twenty or thirty guards held the centre courtyard, a mixed array of shields, patroni and conjured hard cover their only protection. Jan looked up, and from the top of the broken Tower, she could see him. Lord Voldemort, merely content to watch the on-going bloodshed.

"Jan!" shouted another guard, "Status?"

"We're it," she replied. "They own the entire prison complex. But we did leave a few surprises." Distant explosions rang out, "Might buy us a little time."

"Then that's all of us," replied Alexander Goodson, "Seventy against five thousand." The air grew colder around them as the Dementors swooped in, making another pass, "Squads Thurston, Jackson and Luclus: Defensive Patroni! Squad leaders mark you targets and volley fire! Bring them down!"

Another knot of Dementors writhed in agony and then exploded, showering its fellow with black ash and scraps of cloth. Sure enough they were killing them, but each Dementor needed at least four solid hits to be killed, and there were still hundreds more circling in the air, the ultimate murder of crows.

Alexander's arm trembled. His entire body shook. The sheer magical cost of casting the charm so many times was taking its toll. But there was only one choice: He marked another Dementor with a glow charm, "Squad Goodson!" he roared, "All offensive! Take my target!" he screamed the incantation and six voices followed suit, obliterating another Dementor.

It came as a surprise when the Dementors fell back, granting the defenders a moment's respite. Then the voice of evil oiled its way to them, "A most valiant effort, defenders of Azkaban," hissed the Dark Lord. They were surrounded.

"My compliments upon so valiant a defence, against such superior foes," They were trapped, surrounded by the wards of the enemy. "Surely you can see that there is no escape. Join me, and your lives will be spared."

And the remaining members of the once four hundred strong Azkaban Guard knew it, and knew that there was no way out.

Wands were up on all sides, as Alexander surveyed the men and women around him. They stood, back straight and back to back against a tightening circle of Death Eaters, liberated prisoners and Dementors. From all sides, there were discordant howls, the bone chilling gibbering of the insane, shrieks of pleasure and a verbal taunting that clawed at their souls.

Jan wiped the blood from her eyes. The vertical slash had nearly split her forehead in two. She raised her wand in her good arm. There was no surrender. Not to this horde of subhuman slime.

His hands were shaking, the long knife in his left hand slick with the blood of countless slain foes, "Sir?" Kimberly Vale asked, spitting blood and broken teeth, "What are, your orders?"

Alexander paused for breath, and almost regretting it as the broken ends of his ribs grated against each other, "Our orders stand. We do our duty to the end." Alex met her eyes, "For your sake," he turned and raised his voice, "For all our sakes: Do not let them take you alive."

Kimberly blinked twice, and gave him a sharp nod, "I…we understand sir."

"Wizards and Witches of the Azkaban Guard," said Alexander, "It has been the greatest privilege of my life to serve alongside the finest to ever graduate the academy. Today, the privilege has become an honour: I know that I stand and fight alongside the finest for whatever time we have left." His gaze encompassed them all and he blinked, at the unfamiliar face in the crowd.

"You there," Alexander called, keeping his voice, strong and firm, even though there was an edge of pain in it, "What is your name?"

"Charles, sir," the man called back, keeping his gaze fixed firmly upon the horde surrounding them, "Charles King."

"Let's know you Charles," said Alexander, "Why do you fight?"

"For my wife," he replied, "Melissa, for my girl, my baby girl." The Dementors began to circle overhead.

Alex took a deep shuddering breath, and choked down the roiling tide of emotion in his chest, "Charles, what is your baby girl's name?"

"Amelia, sir." Charles took his eyes off their enemies for a moment, blinking back tears.

He knew him, of him at least. Charles King would die alongside Alexander, "Azkaban Guards: Prepare to attack: Five count and drop shields. Jan: lead it."

"Aye sir," she stepped next to him, and gently took his hand in her own, "We should have had more time."

"We should," he agreed. He turned to face her, and then kissed her, gently, trying desperately to communicate what should have been a lifetime of love, of memories, and of happiness in a single kiss. She rested her head on his chest for a long moment and then they were standing side by side, their fingers still entwined. Her gaze lingered on his for a few moments longer, and he gave her slightest of nods.

"Starting count! Five… four…"

"The world, will never know what we do tonight," thought Alexander, "But the world does not matter."

"Three… two…"

"What matters is that we stand, and we fight, and that we bleed the bastards. What matters is that we die standing, dying for what we believe, for the truth. For the Light, we die, as heroes."

"One!"

"Attack!"

The witches and wizards of the Azkaban Guard would charge in the gaping maw of the enemy, wands blazing hexes and curses. They would wield daggers, swords and knives that would stab, cut and slash through the flesh, jar against bone and continue onwards. Although the world would not know their names until many years after the Azkaban Rebellion, the Death Eaters would know them, and remember them. There would be nights, when the Death Eaters would speak of this last stand. Not of how, they, Voldemort's Death Eaters had overwhelmed this last handful of witches and wizards, but of how the last handful had stood and fought.

This last of the Azkaban Guard, and they fought to the very last, accounting for over three hundred of the enemy in an orgy of violence that lasted nine minutes. The Death Eaters would remember their courage and the ferocious skill displayed in this desperate last stand where seventy-two witches and wizards stood their ground and in one voice, proclaimed that they would not go silently in the darkness and that they would not surrender until the enemy stood atop their broken remains.

They honoured their promise, and Lord Voldemort himself acknowledged the courage, honour, valour and skill of these witches and wizards with hideous praise, "They would have been my finest Death Eaters." Guard Kimberly Vale was the last to die, her shield fracturing under almost a dozen cutting, piercing and banishing charms. Within minutes of her passing, Azkaban was as silent as a tomb.

In the destroyed courtroom, it had taken the Headmaster only moments to put the pieces together. "Minister," said Dumbledore, "I would suggest that you mobilize reinforcements for Azkaban, immediately."

It still took an exorbitant amount of time to convince the Minister to dispatch reinforcements to Azkaban, only to prove their worst fears true: Azkaban was a charnel house of the dead. The initial report made grim listening: The Azkaban Guard annihilated, over 5,000 prisoners released and in the service of Voldemort. Fires were still burning, and the corpses still smoking when word arrived. Indeed, the entire raid has lasted all of twenty-one minutes.

The trial – such as it was – was over and most of the Wizengamot left without a backward glance though quite a number threw very dark looks towards the Minister and in particular the wizard supposedly in charge of the safety of the Minister, and by extension, that of the Wizengamot, who turned his back on them as they exited the room.

"Minister, I'd look to see just who is wearing Voldemort's face," said Harry quietly. It took almost half an hour but there was no surprise as all of the Death Eaters suddenly bore exactly the same face, "Effingus" muttered Harry, "Every damn one of them an Effingus," he turned to the Headmaster, "It would appear that you bitch-boy Severus Snape did an excellent job recruiting for Voldemort." The headmaster of Hogwarts could only shake his head in quiet sadness.

There wasn't much more left to say as the group returned to the Atrium and took the Floo back to the Headmaster's office in Hogwarts. The group departed the office silently and made their way back to the castle, where word quickly spread of their return and of an immediate emergency meeting of the Legion in the Room of Requirement. Suffice to say that Dumbledore's announcement at dinner that evening was someone anticlimactic in its effect as everyone already knew the day's events, having gotten word of it from what the students by and large believed to be a significantly more reliable source.

That evening, Riddle Manor was a scene of celebration and jubilation as the magically expanded Manor played host to nearly four thousand former Azkaban Prisoners, many of whom swore their oath of loyalty and service to Voldemort and took the Dark Mark. Some were simply stunned, other gorged themselves on their first decent meal in years. Voldemort was more than satisfied. He was outright pleased with the day's events: A few lost Effingus and he had now doubled his fighting force, though many would need time to recover and train. After all, in the grand scheme of things, the Effingus were totally expendable. If nothing else, the complete breakout from Azkaban, coupled with the destruction of the Azkaban Guards would no doubt bring many of those sitting on the proverbial fence in to the fold. Indeed, they would have to step up their recruitment activities in the face of their outstanding success. The revelry would go on well in to the next day.


	20. Chapter 79 - Teenage Stupidity

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 79

Teenage Stupidity

Harry James Potter stared out the window for the umpteenth time. He cursed for the umpteenth time as well as he let his mind run over all of the information he had absorbed, of every piece of information in his possession regarding Voldemort, the Death Eaters, Severus Snape, The Blaze, the Azkaban Rebellion. Spring had come and gone. Summer was almost upon, and the April Fool's Day had been yesterday. It had been a quiet one, with the Darkness that threatened to engulf them hanging low over the collective head of Magical Britain.

But in all fairness, the same cloud of darkness also hung low over the rest of the country: The muggles had been the victims of countless attacks. The squib population had been decimated; the Ministry of Magic was a shell of its former power, really only in control of London and its outlying areas. The rest of the country had been left to fend for itself. The Ministry was fully defensive, reacting to every disaster and to every attack, unable to take the fight to the enemy.

But that was only half the picture. The other half was promising in its own way: The Legion safehouses setup the length of the country were now beacons in the darkness. Indeed, they were so heavily warded and protected that they were rendered all but impenetrable to attack. The Death Eaters had tried on more than one occasion to breach the defences and had failed. However, the Legion had been just a reactive as the Ministry with no information to act upon.

The only bright spot in the whole mess, as far as Harry could see was that the British government was not taking any of this lying down: A state of national emergency had been declared, the military deployed in force and they had proven their worth in a fight, demonstrating the power of firearms, light armoured vehicles and aerial superiority, proving that technology could at the very least match whatever magic could do: Spells had to hit their target. Bullets had to have a "name" on them – so to speak – but grenades, explosives and shrapnel was address "To whom it may concern." If anything the muggles were doing a remarkable job of bleeding down the ranks of the Effingus. It was not lost on anyone that the so-called "terrorists" were capable of doing incredible damage with "just pieces of wood," something Harry had no doubt was raising all kinds of red flags within the Muggle government, but that was really nothing he was even remotely interested in concerning himself with. After all, if the likes of Snape could get away with so much in the wizarding world, there was no telling what the creature had gotten away with in the muggle world, not to mention what the rest of his ilk were getting away…

That set Harry's mind wandering over the memories he had pillaged from Severus Snape: He had proof that the greasy git had never ever repented, nor had he ever been on the side of the Light. His actions at The Burrow proved that if nothing else. Add to that the number of murders the… thing… had carried out, to say nothing of the countless muggles he had tortured. Harry shook his head and rolled behind a hasty conjured brick wall which intercepted the trio of cutting curses the training dummies on the far side of the Room of Requirement had sent at him. The Effingus were not unlimited as they had feared. Indeed the Death Eaters could not risk producing many more without destroying the very artifice that created, and quite possibly sustained the copies, or perhaps clones were a more accurate word to describe the simple minded vessels. He had of course, made a copy of the relevant memories and passed them to the Department of Mysteries… the only department where the Death Eaters did not have any influence in.

He considered that thought for a few moments longer than usual. The charms and wards around the court room were supposed to be the equivalent of having a Fidilius Charm in place. Strange how so many marked Death Eaters had been able to literally waltz in to the middle of a trial. As far as Harry was concerned it was not a matter of "if," but a matter of when the Ministry would fall to Voldemort. It has already occurred to them that the Ministry could be staffed by nothing but Death Eaters, those under Imperius, or more simply Effingus, meaning that Voldemort already controlled the wizarding government through his puppets, of whom no doubt Cornelius Fudge was either a lackey or willing collaborator.

And then there was the situation surrounding Neville Longbottom: Everyone knew precisely what the scion and heir to the House of Longbottom had done in the confines of Dungeon seven, though there had been no proof of his actions. Indeed, there was no trace of anyone or anything but Neville when he emerged from an empty class room, three and a half days after he had entered. The ministry investigation had shown extensive use of high powered combat magic, but there were no bodies, no blood, no unforgivables or otherwise dark curses on Neville's wand.

It was only Neville's guilt that had ultimately made him make a private confession to Harry, offering his wand and himself for judgment. Harry's judgement had been quick and to the point: Legillimency and several memory charms on Neville, before erasing the knowledge of that from his own memory: One of the few advantages of having spent hundreds of hours mastering the discipline.

Thoughts of Legillimency sent his mind wandered down an almost equally well travelled path: Voldemort's horcruxes. The diary destroyed in his second year. The Locket destroyed during the summer in Grimmauld Place. The Cup: destroyed in a covert operation in to Gringotts that should have not succeeded under any circumstances. Harry had wondered about that on numerous occasions, but was not one to question Lady Luck, especially when she decided to go his way instead of against him. There was also the "hidden" horcrux which had once called the inside of his head home: Destroyed or rather removed in a very one sided bargain with Lady Death. Four down, and thanks to Lady Death three more to go. He found himself wondering just how to go about the last three: That thrice damned snake Nagini, Marvolo Gaunt's Ring and The Diadem of Ravenclaw. He paused for a split second and then remembered where he was and ducked as the pair of Reductor curses flew overhead. He chided himself for letting his thoughts wander, even if it was during a low level training drill: Why was he leaving the Diadem alone? It was in the Room of Requirement after all… and given that he was standing in the Room of Requirement...

He ended the training regimen with a thought and Rowena, he could practically taste her incredibly smug amusement that was tantamount to her saying, "I was wondering when you would get round to it." He replied with an equally cheeky, off the cuff remark along the lines of wondering when her maternal instincts would get around to reminding him of the fact that he was practically standing on top of one. Though the both shared a good laugh, Harry's sense of humor evaporated when he saw the state of the so-called "Room of Hidden Things," which appeared whenever a student had something that they needed to hide. Given the age of Hogwarts, there was a lot of… junk to wade through especially since his friends were by and large stuck in class or dealing with another ridiculous homework assignment and his summoning charm failed to produce results, just like in Gringotts. He blinked.

"Rowena, would the effect of setting this junk on fire?" he smiled at the answer and raised his wand, "Plurious Incendio Grata!" and promptly put his back to the door as the first dozen fireballs began to burn away the piles of junk and garbage. He kept up a steady barrage, incinerating everything. No doubt, Voldemort would have put protections in place to ensure that his Horcrux would not be harmed by so simple a spell, meaning that whatever survived the blaze, would have to be the Horcrux. The process would take a few hours, and sure enough people began turning up as the ghosts of the castle passed discreet messages for those available to join Harry in his thankless "housekeeping" task.

Suffice to say that they found the diadem, though only after a four hour burning spree as it was the only object left intact. Luna however did point out that there were a lot of people who were probably going to come looking for their precious hidden thing and not find it. Harry had shrugged, as had a number of the others. A few lost possessions, versus the fate of the wizarding, and by extension the muggle world: A fair trade in his book.

There was no doubt that this was the Diadem that Death had explained to him was one of the Horcruxes of Voldemort. The only known relic of Rowena Ravenclaw, was in a word: Beautiful. The eagle like head looked off to the right, the plumage of its chest rendered in fine detail. The wings of the Diadem were curved and swept back, imbedded with dozens of small diamond like stones that ran along the outer edges of the artefact. The intricacy of the spokes that filled the frame was astonishing with what appeared to be scrimshaw or etchings of intricate design woven in to each other across the metal lattice. The blue sapphire was the unchallenged centrepiece, outshining the two smaller diamonds that hung beneath the deep blue jewel.

However, its status as the "Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw" was perfectly justified as Harry levelled his wand and cast the Fyndfire Curse. It came as no surprise as the curse slammed in to a shield that kept the flames of hell six inches from the artefact. With a frown, he channelled more power in to the spell, only to make minimal progress. "A… little… lot of help here!"

The others added their own spells to the mix: Twice more the fyndfire curse slammed in to the shielded Horcux, making slow progress to burn away the shield surrounding the artefact. Without hesitation, Rowena drew upon her own magic, channelling her own power in to Harry, doubling then tripling the ferocity of his Fyndfire curse that continued to literally claw its way, a fraction of a millimetre at a time. Luna frowned, having blasted the cursed object twice with high power piercing hexes, "It draws upon the latent magic in the air to strength itself!"

"Then let's fix that," replied Neville, "Penitenzigate!" The Goblin shield breaker smashed in to the shield and there was a small explosion as the first layer of protective enchantments, and set off a cascade of feedback that burned through the remaining layers of shielding. The room and the castle itself shook under the shockwave, throwing them all backwards off their feet.

"Heh," said Neville sheepishly, lying on his back, "That seemed like a good idea at the time." Maybe we should have tried Basilisk venom first?"

"Who cares?" growled Harry as he adopted a two handed grip on his wand, "We end this thing. Now!"

The protections broken, the quartet of Fyndfire Curses scorched then began to char the metal of the Diadem. The gemstones seemed to wilt and then melt under the intense heat as a near silent shriek of unadulterated evil was vomited forth before silence reigned. The only remains of the Diadem were a patch of fire blackened floor together with a near miniscule pile of ash that was vanished with a flick of a wand.

There were smiled all round, at the destruction of yet another Horcrux. That left only two that his Core group, his own inner circle as it was knew about: Marvolo Gaunt's ring, and the damned snake. "We better get going," said Luna, "There's no way that earthquake went unnoticed." They were gone within moments, narrowly missing Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall leading three prefects up the corridor. None of them noticed a thing as the group leaned against the wall, covered by invisibility spells as they split up and headed in opposite directions.

All but Fleur: She spared a glance over her shoulder and then slid in to an alcove to watch the Headmaster's group trot right past the blank stretch of wall where the door to the Room of Requirement would have appeared. She smiled and made her way through the Castle, in to the second floor bathroom and down to The Residence. From there, she would Floo her way home. She could not help but smile as she found herself thinking of Potter Manor as home.

In London however, events were taking a turn for the worse. Lord Voldemort had realized that his ultimate weapon - the Effingus would not be enough to conquer the country. Indeed, what were once acceptable losses were now no longer acceptable, even amongst the mindless automaton like ranks. True he had swelled his ranks with several thousand new fighters, but it had taken little effort to put his backup plan in to place and that was now about to bear fruit of the most satisfying kind: Victory. True that many of his original goals remained unchanged: Harry James Potter must die, as must the meddling old muggle loving fool of a headmaster. But once he had the country, hunting down two men would be a far simpler task, especially with the entire country hunting only two men. It would be a matter of time.

He sat at the head of a long table, surrounded by those Death Eaters whom he felt were the most worthy of the least distrust for he knew that to trust even one of his subordinates fully would be a mistake he would in all likelihood not survive… even if he could not truly die another fourteen years as a spirit had little appeal to him. He sighed inwardly as he thought fondly of Bella. She had been the only Death Eater who he had trusted, especially since she had provided him with certain forms of relief and pleasure that many of his Death Eaters were unable to do. He sighed as he looked towards the door of his bedroom. The muggles always broke within hours and were never able to satiate his desire… he would have to arrange for a new... plaything to be delivered to his chambers. Soon.

He looked around the room and then out of the window before dragging his attention back to the gathered Death Eaters, "Does my plan progress?" he asked.

"Yes Master," came the subservient reply from Walden Macnair, "The fall of Azkaban and the bolstering of our ranks has had the desired effect. Much of Eastern Europe will support the necessary measures when you deem the time to be right."

"What of the Russian Problem?" he asked coldly.

There was hesitation but Macnair knew that hesitation would only make things worse for him, "The Russian continue to resist our overtures and they have taken unprecedented steps to secure their borders: They have raised their war wards and enforced conscription: They have swelled the ranks of their Internal Security Division, and law enforcement divisions to World War 2 levels. My…our…your operatives," he corrected hurriedly, "report that the Russians area ready to go to war with most if not all of Eastern Europe at the slightest of provocation."

The Dark Lord nodded, "The Russian problem is a problem for another occasion. Send word to the Russian Ministry of Magic: So long as they look to their own borders and internal security, they will have nothing to fear from Lord Voldemort. My interest remains the British Isles… for now."

"Yes Lord." Macnair kept his eyes firmly on the floor at the feet of the Dark Lord, but could not mistake the shadows rippling on the wall, which made clear that Voldemort was stroking Nagini's head, and probably contemplating whether to feed him to the Giant Snake. The yew wand rose and Macnair tensed, anticipating a great deal of pain.

Though there was a fire roaring in the grate, along with lit chandelier, the entire room was still crouched in shadow but there was enough light to see, and Macnair saw the hand and wand of his Lord rise, pointed towards him. He tensed in anticipation and could not help the sigh of relief as the merest tendril of magic brushed past him. His near inaudible sigh of relief brought a rictus of a smile to the face of Lord Voldemort as the door to his bedroom opened. Nagini, coiled alongside the Dark Lord raised her head to meet her master's hand as he affectionately stroked the creature and spoke to his familiar.

The gathered Death Eaters shuddered ever so slightly, still disconcerted by the Dark Lord's use of parseltongue. Naginia hissed something in response and slithered across the floor towards the bedroom, eager to feed. Voldemort turned his gaze towards another of his Death Eaters, "Lucius, what of our European neighbours?" his distaste was evident in his last word.

He had suffered greatly at the hands of his Master in the aftermath of his rescue, but he known that despite his punishment, that Lord Voldemort would not forsake him, especially since the stratagem had required him to be alive. The switch had been executed flawlessly in the minutes before he would have been force fed Veritaserum. But the Lord Malfoy seated at the table was not eh same man he was before, at least not entire. Many months at the tender mercies of the Dementors had wrought both physical harm and psychological damage. Indeed, the cane was no longer an affection, but a necessity… and there was the fact that his hair was actually a shocking white instead of its traditionally blond.

"My Lord," replied Malfoy Senior, "The French, having witnessed the demonstration of your power, will cooperate. Furthermore, their minister is one who shares similar beliefs to our own, and as such, I do not believe much, if any force will be required. The Germans are another matter."

"Continue." There was a shrill scream from the bedroom and internally, voldemort smiled as the scream of fear became a glass shattering cry of agony.

Malfoy nodded subserviently, "My Lord. The Germans are fully aware of your overtures to the French and given the shared history of both nations, he is disinclined to even consider a proposal."

"Have him removed," Voldemort commanded imperially, "Implicate Fudge and by extension the English Ministry. Such an action will benefit our cause should an assassination attempt succeed or fail." Malfoy nodded, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the floor at his master's feet, "Play your part in this Lucius, and you shall be rewarded." The hooded gaze made clear that failure would be met with a fate far worse that being a Dementor's plaything.

In the aftermath of the Azkaban debacle, the Wizengamot was in an uproar. Fudge occupied the position of Chief Warlock Fudge, a retinue of Aurors were stationed throughout the chamber, "Members of the Wizengamot!" his voice boomed, "I call upon the members of this august body to vote upon Executive Order 66! I give you my promise, that it will secure the future of our society, and secure the ascendancy of Magical Britain!

More than half of the gathered members rose in thunderous applause as the Minister shouted, basking in the ovation, "Today! We forget a new order! A new government! One to last a thousand years!" The chamber itself shook with the crowd's approval, "Unity of purpose! Without discord!" Now nearly the entire body of witches and wizards on their feet, in a near unanimous show of support for the Minister, "It is time for us! For the people of Magical Britain to seize the opportunity! To shape our destiny! I call for an immediate vote upon Executive Order 66!"

The silence in the wake of the minister's call was as deafening as the applause, and one woman chose this moment to rise. She had remained seated. She had not applauded. "Minister," her voice belied her years, "This legislation would give you the power to rule by decree. Surely this is against the very nature, and founding principles of our magical government. Since times long forgotten, since the age of Merlin and Arthur Pendragon has the magical world been ruled by a council, the magical council, the predecessor to the Wizengamot. I for one, will not stand idly by…"

Fudge nodded. It was almost imperceptible but the Auror saw the gesture and acted at once, raising his wand with blinding speed, "Avada Kedevera!" His aim was perfect and she crumpled to the floor. Dead.

"There shall be no disunity! No disloyalty!" Fudge cried, "The future of our nation requires us to be of one mind! We must act as one! All in favour of the passage of Executive Order 66 into law? All opposed?"

Fudge smiled a vicious smile that was almost at odds with the Minister everyone knew, "It is with pleasure that I announce the formation of the Ministerial Inquisition." The crowd rose to their feet once more, clapping and this time, cheering at the declaration, "The MI will have access to the full might, resources and power of the Ministry! They shall lead the charge in the formation of our new society that will be guided and shall be shaped in to a beacon for the rest of the magical world to follow. "It is my greatest pleasure to appoint Delores Umbridge to the position of Lord Inquisitor, to ensure the protection and reformation of our nation!"

Thunderous applause sounded the death knell of democracy, while just over a thousand kilometres away in Munich, the heart of magical Germany, a team of what would shortly identified as British born and trained witches and wizards would be killed attempting to assassinate the German Minister for Magic igniting a short fuse that would lead to international condemnation of Wizarding Britain – exactly as Lord Voldemort planned.


	21. Chapter 80 - Enemies Domestic, Allies Fo

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Yeah… I take a few creative liberties with actual history here. A few of the mentioned here as the "Founding Fathers of the European Union" are those considered to be the founders of the EU as it exists today. Whether they were witches and wizards is another story entirely and for the rest of the muggle world to figure out…. Damn Statute of Secrecy.

Chapter 80

Enemies Domestic, Allies Foreign

Condemnation had fallen swiftly upon Britain, as the ICW withdrew its support of the British Ministry of Magic within hours of the failed attack upon their German counterpart. The French representative to the International Confederation of Warlocks had condemned the actions of the British Ministry, calling upon the international magical community to take swift and decisive action, and were the first to act as they first closed their borders to Britain, and raised war wards that had lain dormant since the fall of Grindenwald and the muggle Second World War. In a rare show of solidarity, the Germans had followed suit within hours, followed just as quickly by Spain, Portugal, Italy, and even the traditionally neutral Swiss.

By the end of the week, magical Europe had closed ranks and its doors to magical Britain, include all lines of tourism and trade. The Americans, traditionally a staunch ally of the British, had quietly withdrawn its support and looked to its own internal security and borders. It sent a clear message to the British wizarding government: They were on their own.

"No surprise," muttered Harry as he read The Quibbler's and the surprisingly accurate report of events from the Daily Prophet, and even Witch Weekly. "Wizarding Britain has been fucking up for the past twenty plus years ever since Voldemort began his first rise to power." True enough, given that during the first war the British Ministry had spurned international assistance, citing "Lord Voldemort and his band of rebels" as being an "internal matter." It had not been an internal matter. Ever. During Voldemort's first rise to power, the Death Eaters had spread across, garnered support and several countries had borne the wrath of the Death Eaters. The fact that it was – as far as everyone knew – the British Government that had ordered the assassination of the German Minister for Magic, left no reason for any nation to want anything to do with Britain.

Indeed, within Britain itself, Minister Fudge had rammed home decree after decree, rapidly constricting the freedoms of the magical population with a nationwide curfew, followed quickly by decrees that had shut down dozens of wizarding publications, taken full control of the Wizarding wireless service, and had begun to curtail the freedoms and rights of targeted sections of wizarding society: Muggleborns were suddenly required to register with the government. The persecution spread to encompass other magical species including the Werewolves, the Vampyres, and even the Centaurs were the victims of oppressive legislation that bore all the hallmarks of the legislation enforced across Europe by the Nazi Government.

But where the Nazis had taken years to build their government of oppression, the Minister created the same within months. It had not escaped Harry's notice that both sides of the conflict seemed to have no problem supporting such measures. All this made Harry wonder just what was going on politically, and made him wish for the first time he was involved in politics.

The most important step would be to rally the people to Voldemort's banner, which is precisely why Lucius Malfoy walked through the harried crowd in Diagon Alley, snow crunching under foot. He observed the downward cast eyes, the unwillingness of people to make eye contact, the rapid pace as everyone hurried to conclude their business and get home before curfew was enforced with deadly force, without exception. Indeed, the ministry's grip had become suffocating but none would speak out, for fear of the Ministerial Inquisition which had powers of arrest, detention, interrogation and sentencing as a part of its mandate to root out the traitors in their midst. Lucius smiled to himself: Fudge was playing his role perfectly by oppressing his people.

Malfoy climbed the steps, his dark fur collared cloak billowed about him as he stood before the doors of Gringotts, and turned to face the still hurrying mass of witches and wizards. "Sonorus," he incanted, and then threw back the hood of his cloak. "My fellow Witches and Wizards!" he spoke, his enchanted voice carrying the length of Diagon Alley, and even part way down Knockturn Alley, "My fellow Britons: I beg of you, to hear my plea!"

The fast moving oppressed came to a halt, and turned their heads to stare at the wizard who had called to them, "We. Are the oppressed!" he shouted, platinum blonde hair whipping in the wind, "To rule by decree means that Minister Fudge has granted himself unlimited power and authority! He has broken his word to serve the magical world! He has become drunk with his power!" The gathered throng of humanity moved closer, and Lucius knew he had their attention, "He abuses his power, and his position: He denies us the liberties and rights guaranteed to us as the citizens of this nation!"

"The minions of Fudge and his Inquisition will be upon us momentarily, which is why I must speak, and speak quickly." The people looked around, nervous but none made any move to leave, "There is a way to end this tyranny! There is hope! The future the Minister promised can be ours! But we must rise!"

"But what can we do against such Darkness?" cried a plant in the crowd.

Malfoy smiled, "Rise! Rise against our oppressors and his machinations, and those of Fudge's Inquisition! All tyrants and despots have long feared one thing above all else: They fear the people that they rule with an iron fist! They fear the people will rise against him! This is what Fudge fears! This is what the Ministerial Inquisition is supposed to crush beneath an iron boot! I say we give Fudge, Umbridge, the Inquisition, the aurors and any others who support this regime of corruption a reason to fear us!"

The crowd quickly became something of a mob, and Lucius raised his arms in the air, the puppet master directing his marionettes. "The army to resist the illegitimate reign of Fudge exists! But it needs strength! It needs support! Such strength can only come from those who wish to see their country, our country free of such tyranny! Such an army requires the support of the people!"

Lucius paused and the crowd filled the momentary silence with a roar of support. "Our army grows! It will soon be poised! I ask you, as free Britons to bide your time! But be every ready to raise your wand alongside mine! Alongside those that will liberate our country against those who control you!"

He smiled broadly as he raised his wand overhead as the crowd gave bloody screams of affirmation. "We were once a proud nation! Our history is glorious! And we have fallen! A sickness grows within us! A disease that will consume her from within! And so we must fight to free her! To keep her pure!"

The crowd roared once more, and he suppressed the urge to laugh as the mob voiced its approval, pledged its strength to the cause, and promised its support to these freedom fighters. "Rise and Unite! Rise and form a bastion that enemies within and without will break against! We must expel the tyrant Cornelius Oswald Fudge! He must be held accountable for his crimes!"

There was a skirmish at the edge of the crowd and Lucius Malfoy could see from the ranks of approaching Aurors that his time was up. With a tap, his portkey activated, whisking him away to safety as he had a very important, perhaps the most important meeting of his life ahead of him, with the ICW on its final day of business for the year before much of Europe, and indeed Britain itself closed for Christmas and the New Year.

What is known today as the International Confederation of Wizards, also known as the International Confederation of Warlocks, also known as the International Federation of Warlocks was essentially the Magical equivalent of the Muggle European Union –which comes as no surprise given that three of the European Union's founding fathers – Konrad Adenaur of Germany, Winston Churchill of Britain and Robert Schuman of France – were also wizards who held positions of power, authority and influence within their respective ministries during the late 1940s through to their respective retirements and "deaths" in the muggle world. Indeed, the three men still held positions within the ICW.

Like many organizations of both worlds however, The ICW used Switzerland, specifically the city of Lausanne within the French sector of the country as the home for the ICW. Indeed, those in the know had cracked a smile on more than one occasion, given that the structure was the fully disillusioned and temporally secured sixth through seventeenth floors of the Lausanne City Government Building, Flon district, at the heart of the city.

None truly know the exact date the ICW was actually founded, but the histories concur that its first recorded meeting was in 1289, at what was dubbed the International Warlock Convention, and that the first meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards took place in France under the first Supreme Mugwump Pierre Bonnaccord took place nearly a hundred years later. Perhaps one of the most significant, far reaching decisions made by the wizarding world was during the 17th Century, when wizardkind, facing persecution by the Muggles enacted what would become the Statute of Secrecy, simply vanishing from the face of the Earth in 1689 followed by a number of critical decisions that culminated with Clause 73 to hide every trace of every magical creature across the world.

It was within the confines of these hallowed, history laden halls that Lucius Malfoy waited patiently for his opportunity to address the gathered delegates who had chosen to attend the emergency session with regards to the English situation, specifically the attempted assassination of the German Minister of Magic by the Fudge Administration.

Already the representatives of Western Europe had condemned the actions of Fudge, and it was when the Romanian Delegate rose to his feet, "It is my belief that we are all fully aware of the situation in England, including the most heinous action of Cornelius Oswald Fudge. We have already condemned their government! We have already closed our borders to both trade and aid in all forms! It has been our hope that the worsening situation in Britain, first with the return of their Dark Lord Voldemort, and then the insanity of their government's actions would be enough to convince the people to act! To rise against without international action! With each passing day, the possibility of such a resolution grows less and less likely." His remarks drew general unease from the members of the ICW.

The truth was that the representatives of the various European nations knew the carnage wrought upon the French, and the destruction of the Delacours at the hands of the Death Eaters. The rampage across France was something that none wanted repeated, especially in their own backyard, "However, there is still hope! The possibility of an internal resolution, if we can find it without ourselves to act in support of the burgeoning resistance! This resistance has laid its roots amongst the magical population! Hogwarts itself, under the leadership of Albus Dumbledore has turned its back upon the Ministry of Magic and is now rapidly becoming a sanctuary to those fleeing the Death Eaters, and The Ministry Inquisition."

The chamber had exploded with the protests and cries of the delagates, and the Romanian delegate waited for silence to claim the chamber once more, "My fellow delegates, Lucius Malfoy fled Britain after his public announcement of his opposition to the authoritarian dictatorship lead by Fudge. My government has granted him asylum and he has joined us." The representative motioned to Lucius, "I yield the floor to Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank you, Ambassador Decebel," said Lucius as he walked to the speaker's podium. He waited for a long moment, letting the silence build, fuelling the anticipation of the waiting delegates. He took a quiet breath, "Representatives and delegates of the Wizengamot, my nation is in crisis." His voice was quiet, firm, but it echoed and carried with the same terminal finality of a gunshot, "My nation, my people have long grown, indeed prospered under Minister Fudge. But in those days, he was a man, elected to the office who had the good of the people as his utmost concern. Today… he is a tyrant, consumed, and made rabid by power. The people are cowed, but within them, are many who are ready to rise up and willing to fight and restore Britain to her former glory, but to succeed, we will need to international recognition once a new government is established and assistance, supplies, and resources to rebuild and restore our nation. I speak to you, now, as a representative of a nation oppressed. Help us, so we may help ourselves."

Pin drop silence echoed as Lucius stared around the chamber. It was a long moment before the representative of Germany rose to his feet, "The sons and daughters of Germany shall stand with you!" With the conclusive proof of the attempted assassination attempt, there was really no other recourse open to Germany.

"You shall have the support of Romania!" There had never been any doubt about that. After all, the various nations of Eastern Europe had taken a more lenient view towards the so-called "Dark Arts." That and a number of these nations were already in Lord Voldemort's pocket through the application of the usual methods of blackmail, threats and bribery. The avalanche of Eastern European support spoke volumes, and none spoke against him directly.

"The people of Britain, stand behind me and some of you," he nodded in gratitude to those representatives who had pledged their support, "have pledged to stand with us."

"And what of Dumbledore?" shouted the Italian delegate, dispensing with protocol.

"Dumbledore has turned his back, and broken with the Ministry of Magic. Hogwarts is now more of a refugee centre than it is a school. He cowers behind the battlements of the castle, though I do not know whether he is unable or unwilling to fight, I have no idea," replied Lucius, allowing his genuine disgust, and dislike of Dumbledore to bleed through in his voice. He turned to face the gathered delegates, "I ask," he said, and then, to the shock of all gathered he knelt before the assembly, "I beg you, help us take back our country." He stayed kneeling for only a moment before rising smoothly back to his feet, "And, I thank, this august body for its time, consideration and I hope, support for the plight of my nation."

The last pieces fell in to place, as the assembled delegates proceeded with the most pressing business of the day, and was announced by the Supreme Mugwump, "The motion is carried by the popular vote of this legislative body: The government of Cornelius Oswald Fudge is hereby declared null and void. Minister Malfoy, please take the seat of the English representative to the International Confederation of Wizards. We shall place an international task force at your disposal to restore legitimate rule and government to the British Isles."

Minister Malfoy could not help but smile inside as Lord Voldemort's plan came to fruition, "Thank you Supreme Mugwump. We shall make our final preparations and strike," his smile was almost feral in nature, "Within days, Magical Britain will once again be under the rule of its government."

"Good luck, Minister Malfoy."

"Days," was an unsurprising overstatement: The moment word reached the ear of Lord Voldemort, the Death Eaters and their erstwhile allies were mobilized in force. The muggles seemed to know, or perhaps feel that something was up, having abandoned the general area where St. Mungo's and the Ministry of Magic stood.

All was bone chillingly quiet as if everyone knew that something terrible, something truly evil was about to happen. Though Voldemort sought to rule magical Britain, he would still have to tread with caution when it came to the muggle world. Indeed, Voldemort was no fool. He knew what the muggles could do, and would do if he declared war upon them. No, for now, ruling over Magical Britain would be start. Ruling over muggle Britain, would take more time and planning. That would be a matter of months from now, and a future consideration, given the more pressing matters of the moment.

"Cornelius Oswald Fudge!" The voice of Lucius Malfoy carried easily across the deserted London Street, "We, the people, demand an accounting for your crimes! And judgement shall be passed!" He walked towards the entrance of the Ministry of Magic, the Inner Circle of Voldemort's Death Eaters at his side, followed by the remains of the Effingus, death eaters and foreign Aurors, Hit Wizards and other auxiliaries. "Face the wrath of the righteous Cornelius!"

There was a crackling string of pops, like Chinese firecrackers as the Aurors still loyal to the Ministry, apparated in to the street, taking up positions and effectively forming a cordon around the ministry building. Edison New Kingston stepped in to the open, his wand raised and pointed, "By Order of the Ministry of Magic you are ordered to surrender your wands and selves. The charge is Sedi…."

Edison dived aside, as two bolts of green death sailed through the space his body had occupied moments before. Rolling back to his feet, he cut downwards with his wand, "CAST! CAST! CAST" he roared. Both sides charged, both sides unleashed a blistering array of magic and collided head on like matched, thundering express trains.

Edison dodged and ducked, dancing in between spell fire with ease as he cast and killed without hesitation, striking down one foe after another without mercy. Behind him, he could hear the pops of apparition as reinforcements arrived. He risked a glance over his shoulder and felt both hope and fear course through him: Their reinforcements were composed of nearly every able bodied witch and wizard in the Ministry's employ. Many of whom, he knew would die this day.

Though rank amateurs in the deadly art of war, their weight proved telling as they first stopped, stalemated then began to turn back the tide of black robed witches and wizards led by Lucius Malfoy. Incredible as it seemed to Edison, he watched as yet another Wizard threw himself in front of a curse aimed at Malfoy, screaming in agony before vanishing as an emergency portkey whisked the fallen fighter to safety.

Edison smiled tightly, knowing that victory here would help ease his pain. The smile froze, cracked and shattered as all spell fire targeting his enemies suddenly failed to connect. Some were deflected but many more simply evaporated before reaching the embattled line of black robed wizards. "Hold!" he ordered, "HOLD!"

It took several minutes before the embroiled combatants on both sides could settle their differences enough to disengage and reform their respective combat lines, their wands raised and ready. Edison swooned as a black cloud swam through the assembled ranks of the Death Eaters and finally coalesced in to The Dark Lord Voldemort.

"Oh shit," muttered Edison as an overpowering aura of terror and fear washed over the ranks of the defenders. They hesitated, there were those that took a shuffling step backwards as Lord Voldemort stepped to the forefront of the line. Many of the foreign Aurors did not balk. Indeed, the Eastern European contingent was fully aware who the new leader of Wizarding Britain was going to be. The French knew who they were supporting and the Germans were only interested in their bloody revenge against Fudge. The flock of wizards and witches that had flocked to Lucius Malfoy's banner actually hesitated and then fell in line, alongside the Death Eaters. Just like that, British Wizarding society had made its choice.

A considerably paler Edison struggled to process the unfolding scene as the Dark Lord took one step on to the abandoned road, one step towards the ministry and perhaps most terrifying of all: one step closer to him. The rictus on Voldemort's face sent fear crashing through the defenders ranks as Edison felt his body unwillingly take a step back. The Yew wand was suddenly a blur, flashing left and right as wizards on either side of Edison fell to the ground.

"Shields up! Return fire!" His men complied, but it was pointless as Voldemort's wand twirled sending curses and hexes lancing back at their castors. Several attempted to curse the Dark Lord, but their efforts were half hearted, and they were rewarded with pain before they were cut down like wheat before the farmer's scythe.

"Broadsword! Broadsword!" Ministry personnel activated their portkey or apparated, retreating to the Ministry where they would enact their final stand, leaving their dead and dying in the streets of muggle London. The battle had only just become, but soon it would be a slaughter.

The Dark Lord studied the building across the street from him critically for a moment, then raised his wand skyward, "My loyal followers! Together, we strike as one! For the purity and supremacy of our kind! Of our nation!"

The howl was one of approval and approbation as over a hundred wands followed Voldemort's lead and then cast. The physical bricks of the wall disintegrated beneath the brutal assault, as the wards cracked then shattered under the barrage of magic. Indeed the wards on what was supposed to be the most secure building in magical Britain had not been properly maintained in years. Something that left the defenders not huddled on the far side of the atrium, cowering behind the Fountain of Magical Brethren. "Lethal force! Concentrate fire!" shouted Edison as he added his own spread of reductor and piercing curses to the barrage of spells lanced out, the first barrage in what could only be described as the last stand of the Ministry of Magic.

Despite the advantage of heavy physical cover and extensive shields, coupled with clear fields of fire, the Death Eaters advanced, uncaring o their casualties as they followed their Dark Lord and master in to the fray. Pitiful and pathetic the ministry wizards might be, but they were certainly well trained and fought well. But for the moment, Lord Voldemort had his eyes on only one wizard.

Edison ducked low as the Killing Curse swept over his head, striking another defender full in the face and neck. He rolled back to his feet and fired his own killing curse back at the Dark Lord who conjured a block of marble to block the spell. The marble shattered and the knife like shards were blasted back towards Edison.

The shards smashed through his shield, the impromptu projectiles crashing in to his chest, pulverising first his ribs them his arms ashe desperately sought to physically shield himself from the onslaught. Edison fell to his knees, with a choked gasp as blood soaked the front of his robes. He slid stupidly to his knees, staring around him at the dead, interspersed with the few wounded who called and pleaded for aid and assistance.

"Sectumsempra!" Voldemort cast. Edison grunted one as the curse struck, and fell silent. Cleaved in half, from the waist up, he fell backwards as his legs slid forwards.

Another flurry of spells directed at the Dark Lord were deflected away as he strolled across the atrium killing all those who stood before him as he stalked towards the lifts that would lead him directly to his puppet's office. Already, his forces had suffered far too many casualties and it was time to end this.

Minister for Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge, winner of the "Stylish Wizard of the Year 1995" could hear the raging battle. The portly little man, with rumpled grey hair knew that the fate of magical Britain would be decided today. Considering the situation like a game of chess, he came to the conclusion that it was the support of the ICW that had tipped the scales in Lord Voldemort's favour. Otherwise, the Aurors, the combined might of every wand in the ministry would have proven to be more than adequate to crush the Death Eaters. And, the plan was flawlessly simple: Everyone who stood against Voldemort would die today and that would leave the government in his hands. Effectively, the only resistance would be the vaunted Order of the Phoenix, and Potter's Legion. Both would fall, to his master or each other.

Just outside his office door, he heard the last few defenders calling to each other, spells hissing and sizzling as they whipped back and forth. They continued fighting to the death. He heard the high pitched scream of his second-in-command, Dolores Umbridge and it heralded the end.

"I believe that your office is currently occupied Lucius. Shall we?" Voldemort's voice came from right outside the door. The Dark Lord knocked on the door three times, and then turned the handle, opening and stepping in to the minister's office. "I hope you don't mind if I come in, Cornelius."

Cornelius rose and walked around his table, wand resting in his pocket. He dropped to his knees before his Lord and Master and then lay down literally on his face to kiss the hem of the black silk robes, "Your office my lord."

The Dark Lord stared down at Fudge, his effingus, and for a moment, actually regretted the loss of Percy Weasely, for a moment. There had been a mind worth honing and sharpening to better serve him. He would have been given great responsibility in the government of the new world order. "Complete your task," hissed Voldemort melodiously.

Fudge exhaled a breath he had not realized he was holding and swallowed heavily. He pulled his wand from his pocket. Gripping it tightly, his fingers white as the blood drained from them, it pointed the wand at its temple, "Reducto!"

It would be a Happy Halloween for Lord Voldemort, who smiled, in anticipation of Christmas just two months away. Hogwarts would be a spectacular way to round out the year.


	22. Chapter 81 - The Lack of Calm before the

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 81

The Lack of Calm before the Storm

From the fall of the Ministry, it had taken then six weeks. Six weeks to destroy a magical community and replace it with… something else. That something else would be a totalitarian regime that was a near perfect union of the Communist Police State and Nazi Fascism. Their policies, and ideals only intensified the already on going exodus. Indeed, many magical races such as the Vampyres, and the Werewolves had abandoned the country entirely. The half-bloods and muggle born had been quick to follow suit, but Voldemort was determined to do everything in his power to ensure the purity of his empire by removing every trace of the "undesirable elements which have long plagued wizarding society."

The Dark Lord's definition of "undesirable" excluded virtually every race of nonhuman magical being without verified proof of at least four generations of pureblood ancestry. The irony was that it was the Goblins who were provided the proof of paternal and maternal bloodlines at an exorbitant cost to the government in exchange for being left well enough alone, something everyone know would never last.

The Goblins were officially neutral in what was essentially termed a "Wizarding Conflict." However, for the safety and security of their own, the Goblins had removed much of their own wealth and immigrated nearly their entire population to "calmer territories." Gringotts was only manned by an all-volunteer force of Goblins who deemed the hazard pay sufficient remuneration for having to maintain the razor's edged balance between the two warring wizarding factions. The Goblins had to maintain the veneer of neutrality at least, even if they were providing a great deal of supplies to Hogwarts at premium prices, something Harry had agreed to so that the goblins would not lose out by agreeing NOT to sell to the Ministry.

In an unprecedented move, the 100 Years War Wards had been raised. This effectively locked down the borders of the nation to all forms of magical transportation. The effect of such wards were felt by the muggles as well, who had been at a loss to explain the inclement weather, the unpredictable ocean waters, and baffling "electrical or magnetic phenomenon which renders air travel an extremely unsafe venture at this time." The wards were a source of sarcastic amusement: "You don't want us to stay, but you will not let us leave either! "

Of course, the common witch or wizard, caught in the middle had only one bastion to turn to: Hogwarts. Voldemort had left all the so-called undesirables and unwanted gathered in Hogwarts, swearing an oath of allegiance to the Light, to the Legion and more than once to Harry Potter. The Legion was fully aware of the simple brutality of Voldemort's strategy: Force the enemies of his regime to congregate, and them crush them in a single pitched battle. Thus Hogwarts was the anvil. The only question that had yet to be answered: When would the hammer fall?

That December, the snow lay thick upon the grounds of Hogwarts, and Christmas was still a good three weeks away. Harry sighed as he studied the Great Hall from his vantage point at the Gryffindor Table. This had once been a school he thought, and it will become the site of our last stand for a few thousand, including what's left of the Aurors, The Order of the Phoenix, my Legion and the refugees.

He recalled the days when there would have been a dozen Christmas trees the Great Hall, decorations that had left foreign dignitaries glancing around in amazement. He suddenly remembered the Great Hall, as it had been just a scant few years ago, during the Yule ball hosted during the Triwizard tournament. "And I thought things were already ridiculously complicated."

"I believe the saying goes, "There is no such thing as rest for the wicked" replied Rowena, "And I fear that you are correct in your assessment of the situation: It is a matter of 'when,' not 'if.' Are your preparations ready?

"They are," replied Harry mentally, carrying out the conversation in his head has he done on numerous occasions over the past year with what could be called the living soul of Hogwarts, "What of your own defences?"

"They are ready, but you are aware of their limitations even with the "upgrades," she replied

Harry gave the mental equivalent of a nod and made his way to the Room of Requirement in order to burn off some excess energy and excise some of his frustrations before he called the 3rd of December a day.

It was late in the night, or early in the morning, on December 4th when a dozing Harry was awoken by a wave of heat from ring around his finger. Bleary eyed, he' fumbled his glasses on to his face and quickly decoded the message open the ring. With a wave of his hand over the ring, he acknowledged the message and sent a message of his own: Legion Commanders: Situation One. Deploy.

Within minutes, Harry was exiting Moaning Myrtle's flooded bathroom as he made his way towards the Room of Requirement. The castle was in a state of controlled chaos as everyone carried out their respective orders as Dumbledore himself awaited Harry's appearance, "Mr. Potter," he said politely.

"Headmaster," he replied as the two fell in step.

"It is true then?" asked Dumbledore without any preamble.

"Yes. Voldemort is sacking Hogsmeade as we speak. The Death Eaters are levelling every building and leaving nothing alive. They are coming to Hogwarts."

"Given the level of controlled chaos, I presume you have a plan in place," said Dumbledore, "and the Room of Requirement plays a crucial role?" They were standing just outside the aforementioned room as Harry pushed the door open. The sight within left the headmaster momentarily dumbfounded.

Harry had a small smile on his face, "Welcome to Legion Command, Headmaster."

As Harry strode in with Dumbledore at his heels, more than one of the students stopped to snap off a salute. Legion Command was massive. Three floors deep massive. Two tiers of individuals sat in front of crystal and glass screens around the walls, the upper most tier only accessible by an iron and steel walkway and manned by student. There was an observation gantry about them that housed a trio who looked down on the proceedings, and provided overwatch on the door in to Command.

In the centre of the chamber was a large table, a project of sorts that flickered as information was updated from wide brass like stand beneath it. Half a dozen semi-opaque screens, three on each side of the display showed certain areas of the display up close and in greater detail. A student operator stood on each side with their wands outstretched. Another ring of control consoles and displays sprouted from the stones like standing stones, panelled in wood with brass controls and crystal dials and displays were crewed by even more students.

Harry made his way to a large table that left Dumbledore staring at the replica of Hogwarts, in full colour, showing her walls and grounds, leading all the way down to Hogsmeade, the Black Lake and even the Forbidden Forest. "You have outdone the legacy of the Marauders," murmured Dumbledore, as he looked around and saw patronus messages flitting back and forth between the multitudes of individuals, relaying information and updating the tactical display. It took Dumbledore a moment before he could believe that there were third year students using patronus messengers, and the fragments of messages he could hear.

"Ravenclaw: Situation One…."

"…batteries four through six ready op!"

"Slytherin contained, will take some time….

"…reported at two hundred plus on brooms…."

"…findor: Situation one achieved."

"Dragon? Did you say dragon?"

"Dragons? How many?"

"Copy: Armoured Trolls…"

"Dementors alongside…"

"…puff, Situation One."

"Copy: Giants…"

"Harry! The ward matrix is under attack! The intruder… the intruder knows the pass phrases! I cannot deny her entry! Hurry!" Rowena was practically screaming in to Harry's mind.

The warning was a stream of screamed telepathy that made him wince, making him wince - a motion that was not lost on Dumbledore who wisely kept his own council, "I will join them," said Harry, "Headmaster Dumbledore, your presence would be more useful atop the battlements than in here."

"Indeed," said the Headmaster and departed quickly. Harry nodded to three of the ten Legionnaires guarding Command. They detached themselves from the walls and followed the headmaster quickly and covertly.

Nineteen minutes had elapsed since Harry had been roused from his slumber, but it had been almost thirty minutes since someone stepped over three bodies without a second thought and drew a heavily enchanted dirk from the folds of a black robe.

The intruder placed the tip of the dagger against the door lock and smiled as the wards a whirlwind of swirling light and colour as the powerful protection were undone, turning a rancid black and green before fading away, leaving a door of stout oak without a lock. Grasping the doorknob, and slowly opening it, the intruder entered and closed the door with a self-satisfied smirk.

The room pulsed with beautiful light in different shades of green and silver, red and gold, illuminating the intruder's features for several seconds despite the heavy hood that hid the features. The humming noise was strange and oddly comforting emanated from a large crystal, suspended in mid-air, surrounded by a spiral of smaller crystals that pulsed with a white light. She knew that the smaller spiral were essentially power stones that helped maintain the integrity and stability of the master ward stone, which essentially kept all of the intricately interwoven wards from causing a cascade failure against each other

She shook herself out of her stupor and quickly approached the outer spiral and the closest crystal, glowing with reddish brown and golden hues humming a quiet song. Raising her dagger, she slammed it down in to the crystal. There was a sharp cracking sound and the humming became a high pitched whine as magic crackled over the surface, causing it to crack before it began to shatter in on itself.

Withdrawing the dagger, she slammed in to a second crystal. Purple and blue hues turned black and the crystal itself fell out of the formation as the entire array began to vibrate dangerously. Turning she plunged her dagger in to a third crystal and then a fourth.

The door exploded off its hinges in a roar of magic as harry stalked in to the room, alongside both security teams, totalling nine Legionnaires against the one traitor. "Edgecombe," he whispered softly in surprise as he identified the face standing behind the crippled crystal array from the very faint but still visible scars that still outlined the word "sneak."

"Surprised Potter?" she sneered, doing an excellent impersonation of the now long dead Severus Snape, "Did you honestly think that I would forgive what you did to me? My Lord knew precisely where and how to cripple the castle wards. He will kill your precious Legion and it is has been the greatest pleasure of my life to be the one to do this to you! My revenge for what you did to me! And now the Dark Lord comes with an entire army! You will scream for death until you have no voice! Your pathetic legion! The mudbloods! The traitors! All will suffer and perish before my…."

Harry had heard enough and his wand was up and burst of dark crimson magic had leapt from his wand. It was a single spell that coalesced in to a shimmering yellow and red orb of flame that struck her in the stomach. She stared at her stomach for a long moment and then looked at her adversary, "Is that it?" with heated scorn and hate in her voice.

There was a sudden warm tingle, then it became a heat, and then the pain as something began burning inside her. She opened her mouth to scream, and felt a raw wave of pain as the very oxygen in the air she breathed fuelled the flames within her.

Harry watched, dispassionately as Marietta Edgecombe screamed in agony and screamed some more. Her skin began to glow from within as her skin cracked and flames oozes through like slow moving lava. Her flesh blackened and charred. A yellow and red glow sparked from her eyes, and sparks flew from her nose and ears as her hair burned away. She fell to her knees, and then on to her face, reaching up to Harry desperately, her horrified eyes pleading for a quick death as her hand latched on to Harry's basilisk hide boot.

He looked down at her and lowered his wand, before kicking her arm away. Harry watched for the thirty seconds it took for her to die, and for another thirty seconds as the flames consumed her entirely, leaving nothing but some ash and scorched stone.

Harry left the room at a dead run back to Legion Command. He needed to be there to coordinate their severely compromised defence: None of the Legion's planning and simulations had ever even considered that they would have to defend the castle without its wards or what was left of them, "Rowena?"

"Harry," she sounded for the first time in all the while Harry had known her weak and tired. She did not speak, more like whimpered in pain, "The shattering… it has weakened me… I do not… I cannot… the defences."

"Rowena, do what you are able," said Harry quietly, "But rest assured, no matter what happens, they will not take this Castle without a fight!"

He took a moment to compose himself before emerging from the hidden passageway and in to the seventh floor corridor. He walked, briskly but a measured pace, nothing that could be called an out of control run as he schooled his face in to a mask of calm. He walked and studied the massive marauders map spread out across the table and read the tactical situation with a growing sense of disbelief.

There was everything imaginable out there: Dark Witches and Wizards were one thing. Trolls and giants were expected and so were the Werewolves, no doubt lead by Fenrir Greyback. The Dementors came as no great surprise either. What would pose a tactical nightmare would be the dozen or so giants and the half dozen Dragons, "Where the hell could they get dragons from?" growled Harry to himself. He turned to his aide-de camp, Neville, "Sitrep."

"Slytherin resists, but everywhere else is at Condition One Commander," Neville reported. He took a long hard look at Harry's, noting that his commander has run his fingers through his hair. Never a good sign, "What?" he prodded.

"We've been betrayed," he said quietly, "Marietta Edgecombe. She's shattered the ward and power stone matrix. They'll last a while but nowhere near long enough for anything we planned to actually work. We are going to have to go with Plan "Make-it-the-fuck-up-as-we-go-along. Now give me a minute to think."

The moment Harry's message had gone out to the Legionnaires, within the Castle, a series of one side duels had erupted the length and breadth of the Castle. The Goblins had gleefully provided extensive information regarding all the Death Eater offspring studying at Hogwarts. The Legion moved swiftly to neutralize a large portion of the Slytherin Seniors, as well as select students from all the houses. However, the unmarked and "junior" Death Eaters of Hogwarts had taken to camping in their common room as much as possible and with only one door, it was proving to be an incredible difficult to crack open.

At least it was until a second Legionnaire was taken down by a bludgeoning hex and evacuated to the Infirmary where Madam Pomfrey waiting alongside several other students to deal with the incoming wounded. "Twins never got these working they way they should have," she said calmly to her boyfriend as she handed out the cylindrical shapes.

"I know," he said, equally calm about what he was about to do, "But you got to give the Death Eaters in there some credit: least they got their juniors bundled out before the spellfire started."

"True."

"Legion summons: a Tempest Pacificus in ten!" shouted Colin to the dozen Legionnaires with them. Just like they had practiced, Luna set the pulled the pins and tossed them up before Colin banished it through the doorway and in to the Slytherin Common Room. Precisely five seconds later, there was an explosion of noise, and a cone of white light flared out of the doorway accompanied by the shouts and screams from the Death Eaters within.

"Legion! Charge!" shrieked Luna, an edge of madness in her tone that would have done the deceased Bellatrix Lestrange proud as she led the Legionnaires inside.

"Maybe…. Ten was a bit much?" suggested Colin. "Looks like we can call Condition…"

"Avada Kedevra!" The bolt of sickening green death flashed across the room and the fight was on as Legion and Death Eater traded spell fire across the confines of the Common Room. The vast majority of Death Eaters only have three major spells in their arsenal: The Unforgivable Three. Most are also fairly lousy shots, depending on their numbers to get the job done in almost every instance. Unfortunately, once in a very great while, even a blind squirrel will find a nut: One Death Eater had used up her every last ounce of luck, indeed, the luck of every last follower of Voldemort in the Slkytherin Common Room, killing Colin Creevey, and condemning them to death.

Luna's wrath was terrifying to behold as her wand spun in her hand, unleashing a powerful hex. The Ribbon Cutter sheared its target in half from the right shoulder to the left knee, demolishing several tables and an armchair before gouging a six in deep slash in the wall. She was in motion even before tables and Pansy had slid to the floor. "Corarcis!" The Siege Breaker basically smashed like a runaway train in to someone else holding a wand, pulverising him in to the wall.

Two pinpoint piercing charms fired to her left blew through a sofa. Sophia and Stephan Mengsk were cowering at opposite ends of the same sofa. She watched a piercing hex punch in to the top of her twin brother's head, watched their head jerk back upright as the curse bore its way out of the side of his/her neck. Barely a moment after that, Sophia was thrown backwards as the second hex pierced her left eye and scrambled her brain.

The spell sent back in return seemed weak and pitiful as Luna dodged, weaved, side stepped and literally danced through the storm of incoming spells. The Legion charged alongside her, two falling to injury, one more killed, smashed off her feet by a killing curse.

A near simultaneous banishing charm sent broken furniture and other detritus crashing in to Quentin Blake, perforating her torso with chunks of shattered table. Luna's summoning charm pulled Jonathan Wright in to the path of a cutting curse.

It was over within seconds as she looked around, breathing hard, as tears spilled down her cheeks as she staggered drunkenly over to her fallen boyfriend, and collapsed to her knees beside him. She cradled his head in her lap, and began to shudder as tears flowed down her cheeks, sobs wracking her body as she willed, prayed, pleaded and begged for her Colin back.

"Control: Slytherin Common Room. Situation One. Four casualties," said Elaine Dryden quietly, "Inform Commander Potter, Colin Creevey… has fallen."

Commander Potter has gripped the edge of the display as he absorbed the news. He quashed the anger that warred with the sadness and grief. Family. Friend. Brother. Legionnaire. Colin had been all four. Luna would be near impossible to console. He forced his mind to focus on the display, promising himself that he would grieve later… if there was a later.

Hundreds of Death Eaters, every last Effingus no doubt were gathered at the very edge of the castle grounds, no doubt with their wands clenched tight in their hands, just waiting for the word. Hovering above the mass ranks, were several hundred Dementors, and half a dozen dragons. Interspersed amongst the Death Eaters were the Werewolves and Trolls clad in heavy armour, together with a number of small-mountain sized Giants. Harry watched and waited. The storm front was upon them.

Just beyond the main gate of Hogwarts, the bearers of the Dark Mark stood their ground, and waited as their Lord and master, probed the wards, muttering long incantations under his breath. He smiled a death head's grin. The wards were there but he could feel it: the lack of ward stones to anchor them. There was no need to advance just yet. He nodded and raised his wands, and his followers followed suit: A mass volley of jets, streaks and beams, over a thousand curses slammed in to the wards. They shivered under the initial barrage but repeated volleys followed, a deadly mix of blasting, cutting, piercing, gouging hexes and curses pounded the wards mercilessly. The wards fizzled and flared all the iridescent colours of the rainbow. Sure enough, they began to fizzle as there was nothing to recharge them.

"Wards failing!" shouted someone

"Batteries ready to fire!" someone else echoed.

A mix of good and bad news within seconds of each other, perhaps a dark portent of the way the coming battle was going to go. Harry drew his wand. "Neville, you have tactical command."

Neville nodded, grim faced at the massive responsibility deposited on his shoulders. But he had trained for this, drilled for it, and accepted the burden with a nod "Won't let you down Commander."

"I know." Harry strolled out. He heard the door swing shut and lock behind him as the posted guards fell in step behind him. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that the door itself would have vanished: Arguably the best protection that their command and control elements could be afforded.

The wards finally collapsed with thunderclap that sounded as if Thor's Hammer, Mjoliner slamming shut the gates of hell itself. It left a sharp ringing in the ears of the defenders and buffeted many off their feet but those that remained stood their ground defiantly as the Death Eaters, with a roar that rivalled the thunder clap took their first steps past the gate and on to the grounds of Hogwarts Castle.

The Dark Army had over a kilometre of open ground to cover before the Entrance Hall, officially but never referred to as "The Chamber of Reception," where hundreds of First Years had awaited their turn to be called forth and sorted in to their House. They would pay a heavy price in blood for every inch of ground that they took.

From the battlements and front towers of the castle, the students of Hufflepuff House, took careful aim. Nobody questioned where the Legion had acquired the quaffle sized projectiles, or how so many had been stockpiled in the castle. Those that knew would never reveal just how magical the Room of Requirement truly is. At a word, almost a hundred were launched from the castle and glided through the air in a gentle arc. At the very apex of their glide, each fragmented. Magic allowed for truly wonderful things to be done thanks to space expansion charms and shrinking charms. Hundreds of six inch metal projectiles flew from each of the quaffles and fell in free fall from a height of sixty meters. The massed ranks stared up in to the sky in confusion for a long moment as the last of the stasis charms faded and the propulsion charms on each projectile flared to life. The propelled hail of metal slivers smashed in to the Death Eaters. Many were quick to conjure shields, or summon a barrier to absorb the brutal rain. The smarter ones took cover behind the heavily armoured Trolls who raised their enchanted shields.

The screaming and dozens began to die as dozens more were maimed and crippled. A second volley pummelled and shattered already weakened shields. In several places, the Trolls themselves had been perforated like pin cushions. More than one collapsed, crushing Death Eaters with their multi-ton bulk. The Death Eater advance was stalled but they quickly regrouped, layering shields and summoned barriers to protect themselves, rendering the third volley largely ineffective.

Reports filtered back to Command from the observers on brooms and Neville was quick to realize that broad bombardment would be unlikely to penetrate the impromptu heavy defences. Considering their munitions reserves, he ordered the artillery teams to concentrate their fire on more strategic targets: The armoured Trolls.

It was never a secret that Trolls were generally about as intelligent as the average piece of yard fencing. However, that stupidity made them easy to bewitch in to following almost any command. In this case, they were covered in five inch think metal plate armour with equally heavy and large helmets that covered much of their faces. The Trolls carried a shield on one arm that was almost as large as they were, and a club that was easily the size of a small tree, with heavy iron bands and spikes for breaking down walls, and cracking skulls with equal ease. Almost a hundred of the beasts were scattered amongst the first few ranks of the Dark Army, provide multiple nuggets of brute physical power and heavy cover in the otherwise magic heavy Death Eater line. The defenders unleashed a targeted barrage from the tower and the Trolls moved forward, raising and interlocking their giant shields as the stream of near molten metal rained down upon them, killing tens more. But overall, the barrage was largely ineffective.

The Dark Army held its ground, as even more shields were cast and barriers conjured and summoned. Overhead above the muddy body shattered and blood soaked ground, dozens of Dementors alongside six Dragons streaked in towards the exposed artillery teams along the tops of the towers and battlements. Air to Air combat, between broom riders was something that the Legion had discussed and discarded early on in their defensive planning due to the impossibility of being able to train teams to fight in the air with any kind of regularity.

The artillery teams ducked beneath their own magical and physical shields the Dragons strafed the battlements with long gouts of flames from end to end. It took all of Rowena's strength to keep her defenders safe. But in more than one place, her shield failed, condemning many to an agonizing, burning death. For many atop the walls, this was the first time that they would turn their wands to cast a piercing charm upon a brother or sister in arms, and friend, to end their suffering.

It was certainly a lopsided affair: Hit a dragon with ease and do no damage to the creature. Kill a Dementor using the Iougulous Patronum – Dementor Killer – Charm, assuming that you can actually hit one. But for now, the battle was going roughly as they had planned.

Perhaps acting under orders from Voldemort, or perhaps acting under the orders of their own master, the Dementors swarmed in over the battlements and walls, just as the defenders had planned. Honeydukes would forever remember the day Luna had lead a half dozen girls in to the store and literally bought out their entire stockpile of chocolate for exactly this moment.

Virtually every Legionnaire was on their feet, chomping through a mouthful of chocolate to help keep the tendrils of cold, and the Dementor's aura of chilling damnation at bay. A wall of patroni rose from the courtyard, cast by the waiting students of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Working in concert, their casters created a web that forced the Dementors to cluster together. Seconds later Hufflepuff unleashed over a hundred beams of streaming silver in to the congregated mass of black robes and darkness. The first volley perforated their ranks and the second and third lanced in to them shearing robes and limbs. A high pitched keening wail speared the air, one that made the stone reverberate, leaving a palpable echo of pain, suffering and loss.

It was more than enough for the Dementors. Those still capable of flight floated, many trailing dark black smoke, many with their robes disintegrating and many more of them dying, filling the air was the stench of something burning, and the taste of ash and soot seemed to settle in the back of the throat of every Legionnaire.

A ragged cheer erupted from the throats of the defenders as the last of the crippled Dementors retreated, but for the defenders, the victory was short lived as the dragons made another pass. Heroically, Albus Dumbledore stop atop the battlements and shielded over two dozen students with a single shield as dragon fire began to melt the stone around them.

The heavy bulky roar was nearly lost over the roar of the serpentine beasts, but the trashing head of the dragon sprayed flames over the lower portion of the walls, giving the defenders a few moments pause. Argus Filch cackled almost evilly as he shook out his neck, working the bolt and chambered another bullet. He nestled the buttstock of his beloved L96A Accuracy International Arctic Warfare snugly against his shoulder and put his eye to the Schmidt &amp; Bender Military Mk. 3-12x 50 telescopic sights. "Better than a Conjunctivitis Curse" he growled to himself.

Taking aim from the Owlery window again, the rifle pushed back against his shoulder, hard enough to bruise. He smiled slightly at the memory, wishing his old friend, and spotter Frank Bryce could be with him today, spotting for targets as they had done during their shared, counter-insurgency days against the IRA. The now blind dragon flailed wildly through the air and had collided with one of its kin. Both beasts had gone down locked in a swirling melee of their own that ended with a crash landing that flattened a good three hundred meters of the Forbidden Forest.

Both sides paused as the two beasts smashed in to the earth, not only crushing the forest beneath their bulk, but also gouging an almost equally long and deep scar in to the Earth, one that would later be known as "Dragon's Cut Gorge." The remaining four Dragons swept round for another pass along the towers and battlements. Nearly two dozen lost their lives to the brutal flames and claws of their winged adversaries. The dragons served their purpose, pinning the defenders in place under the penalty of an agonizing fiery death and the Death Eater land army pressed the advance.

Harry Potter crossed the courtyard and jogged up the inner staircase that lead to the wall top just as a Chinese Fireball completed another attack run. Where the others breathe streams of flame, the Fireball actually propelled a succession of flaming spheres that exploded like miniature grenades. Though the flames dissipated upon impact, the knife like stone shards thrown outward were brutally effective shrapnel. Drawing magic to him, Harry raised his wand and took aim at the fast approaching brute. With a complicated twirl of his wand, he jabbed it towards the dragon.

Those watching him were confused: Nothing happened. Then the tip of Harry's wand began to glow. He looked at it for a moment then adopted a vise like two handed grip as the wand shuddered, and a column of pure white destruction pulsed outwards. The beam pulsed and diverged until it was almost a foot wide and blasted in to the Dragon. The flare of light was so bright that combatants on both sides were momentarily blinded and dazed. Those Legionnaires closes to their Commander were left dealing with a variety of symptoms ranging from flash blindness to brutal nosebleeds. But the Dragon's scaly hide was peeled away, and flesh beneath evaporated in the onslaught of furious energy. When the light faded, the Dragon was reeling, swaying drunkenly through the air. It accidentally decapitated the Owlery with its tail, before ploughing in to the ground on the far side of the castle. It twitched feebly and then died.

It was enough to convince Voldemort, that for the moment, he was outmatched, and he called for his forces to withdraw. The remaining Dragons disengaged, and his land army withdrew beyond the reach of the defenders already meagre artillery fire.

For the Defenders, there was no cheering. There was nothing to celebrate. Grim faced, they assessed the damage, recovered the bodies of the fallen, and began treating their wounded and repairing their defences. What had transpired was merely a lack of calm. The wards were in tatters, their munitions stockpile already at below half and the leading edge of the storm had yet to fall upon Hogwarts Castle.


	23. Chapter 82 - The Storm Breaks

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 82

The Storm Breaks

Since the abortive assault, the enemy had taken to harassing the defenders with barrages of spells launched at random, all hours of the day and night. It had been that way for a week. Legion observers had carefully tracked the movement of the enemy masses, prowling beyond the front gates. Whenever they enemy swept forward to harass, the Legion had stood and delivered a barrage in return.

However, the Death Eaters were crafty bastards, lighting fires to shroud the sky in smoke and ash complicating the task of the defenders. And that made the eerie silence all the more eerie. No one had any doubts that this first break in almost three days on continuous harassment signalled an imminent assault on the Walls of Hogwarts.

Under Neville's guidance, Legion had shuffled forces, pulling back the injured and wounded and replacing them with as many fresh bodies as possible. Indeed, many of those now working Control were those too wounded to return to the front lines, but not completely invalidated out of action. The swift redeployment had put together Hufflepuff, Gryffindor Legionnaires together with Ravenclaw reinforcements.

A total of sixty were held in reserve in the Great Hall, ready to mobilize to wherever they were needed, but the major fighting strength of the Legion was deployed to the walls and also to reinforce the defences as necessary. At Dumbledore's orders, the professors had spread out, doing whatever they could to support the defence. Noticeable by his unexplained absence was one Severus Snape, missing for months. The headmaster believed that Severus's nerve had finally failed and that the man had cut and run. Only a very select few knew otherwise.

Another night passed and the sun rose, its rays barely able to penetrate the fog of smoke clouds. Only silence and smoke drifted beyond the walls. Nerves were stretched taut. While the enemy had been harassing them, even with the Dragons and Dementors in the air, one could say that there was a war, or at least a battle being fought.

Now, on the afternoon of the fifth day, the defenders could hear them: Death Eaters chanting intermixed with the howls of something, the bestial grunting of Trolls and the spurts of flame from the few remaining dragons. Something shook the earth beyond the walls. The noises continued until after Dark and became more frequent through the night. The sixth day passed in silence and by noon, the smoke had begun to clear as the gathered smoke clouds gave you way to oily snow and wind. However, there was precious little visible due to the poor light and visibility.

That evening, movement was spotted just inside the boar winged gates of Hogwarts. Without hesitation, a volley was launched and there was celebration amongst the defenders because they finally had a visible enemy to take a shot at, breaking the taxing drought in the fighting. There was no return fire from the enemy. No sign that the barrage had actually hit anything. There was however, the same pattern of distant rumbling and thunder that shook the ground.

Harry had made a short but simple speech to everyone who called the castle home. He had learned the arts of the orator well and managed to ease the tension and bolster morale slightly. He had been making regular circuits of the walls and the towers, touring the lines to raise the mood.

He was suitably impressed by the courage, discipline and resolved of not just the Legion, but also of all those who had been left helpless and destitute by Voldemort "New World Order." Harry knew many had proved themselves during the precursor assault and its aftermath. Though many were less than capable fighters, they had acted as runners and messengers, seen to the wounded, helped move supplies and even make sure that there was hot food, coffee and even tea available. They were not soldiers or fighters, but they continued to play an important role in the defence.

Despite their preparations, no one in the castle could honestly say that they were prepared for the assault when it came. It struck with the fury of a tsunami as over a thousand wands and god alone knows what else pounded the walls, shook the castle and the explosive display lit up the night sky. Precision strikes hammered and cracked the walls and fractured ramparts.

Salvo after salvo hammered them, chipping fragments the size of a human head from the face of their defences. The fury of the assault stunned the defenders and it took them a few minutes to rally. From the wall tops, spell fire lanced down from individuals as heavier emplaced wall turrets sent beams of searing light, bolts of lighting and sheets of flames down in to the approaching mass of bodies.

The defensive fire was monumental and they fought with a gleeful fury as they addressed the cursed Army of Darkness. It felt good, to each and every defender as they fired in anger. It was with a sense of relief and absolution after all the waiting.

The scale of the slaughter was as incredible as was the rate of defensive fire: The Castle laid down a killing field some twenty meters deep outside their walls obliterating Death Eater, werewolf, vampire, and even Trolls. Hundreds fell, and yet they came forward. Later estimates would indicate at least a thousand dark wizards and beasts had fallen in the first hours of the assault. But the assault continued with overwhelming numbers fearlessly, almost mindlessly advancing over the corpses of their slain to press the attack.

Harry arrived atop the ramparts just to the West of the gates after a particularly accurate salvo of spells had taken out a section of wall. Taking command by sheer presence, he shouted orders to the defenders who relayed his commands the length of their section. He managed to reach Neville at command, and then Fleur who was coordinating the repulse along the Eastern expanse of wall.

"No casualties here," she reported via patronus messenger, "We're hitting the bastards but they keep coming!"

"Maintain position and maintain fire! The effingus will not break. The only way to stop them is to kill them all!"

"Received!"

It was at that moment, when things shifted, "What the fuck is that?" shouted Luna, coordinating the defence with a single mindedness born of revenge. She grabbed Fluer by the shoulder and pointed down as something big stepped through the smoke as spell fire bounced off it.

It was clad in metal plate, each section covered in protective runes and charms. Strapped to its back was a large metal…something. The creature easily stood heads and shoulders above the top of the wall. "Giants! Get a message Command and Harry!" Luna nodded and did just that as Fleur ducked and ran closer to the slow moving monstrosity, even as she checked the crystal slate in her hand for a moment, charting the thing's progress before sending a message of her own to Command."

Fleur's swan patronus arrived and was immediately acted upon, "Senior!" Darrow Summersby was a fourth year with his left arm strapped tight up against his chest, shattered in three places when he had taken a plummet from the wall during the opening battle, "Support Fire requested! Southern Walls: Giant!"

"Senior" in actuality third year Augustine Trentworthy, fingers danced nimbly across her slate, routing the request to an available artillery team, "Relayed."

Atop a tower, Lindsay O'Carroll digested the order, and spared a look down her magnoculers and sighted the monstrosity still plodding steadily forward, now only a few hundred meters from the wall. "Chart Mark five-seven!"

The order echoed to the rest of his team, as they adjusted the positioning of the massive siege weapon, "Team 7 ready to fire!"

"Ease!" she shouted.

There had originally been twelve artillery teams scattered on towers and balconies all over the castle. They were supposed to rain down hell on to the heads of the attackers and while their opening volleys had inflicted incredible casualties at the outset of the first storm, they were running low on munitions and had been tasked only to fire when they were presented with a significant target. The heavily armoured giants were just such a target. There was no doubt that if it got in to range, it would be able to sweep wide swatches of the battlements clear with the tree sized flail it carried.

Only five teams were left in operation. Three had depleted their munitions stores, taken on a heft resupply and burned through those as well. What worried them was that four other teams had been roasted apart by dragon fire. No doubt everyone was grateful the remaining winged beasts had not made another appearance even if there were spotters scanning the skies in all directions for them.

Team Seven had a half dozen quaffle bombs, each one mounted with a permanent sticking charm to a long cylinder that was basically infused with a variable number of propulsion charms - depending on how far their projectile needed to fly. So many charms going off at once tended to create a wave of overpressure that could shatter ear drums.

The single word command made sure everyone had their mouth open, to help equalize the pressure so that their eardrums did not pop as three "rockets" leapt from their launch cradle and streaked up high and then fell towards Earth like a meteor.

He watched them arc up and then slam down, smashing the monster in the chest and shoulders carving furrows and gouging the heavy metal armour. All three failed to breach. He lowered his magnoculers with a curse as his team reported that they were ready to fire again, "Ease!"

Too late.

It reached the walls and swept its massive flail from right to left and back again. From his vantage point, he could only curse loudly as over a dozen were killed or smashed from the wall top.

"Get down! Get down!" Quentin bellowed as the massive weapon literally drenched the top of wall in flailing metal strands, each as thick as a human and swivelling back and forth. Another three Legionnaires were swept to their death. Several more were crushed or filleted by the metal wire.

The Giant gripped the wall with one hand and suddenly its purpose became terrifyingly clear: It was not going to break down the wall: It was a living, breathing siege tower. The metal cube upon its back opened up like a flower, deploying ladders that reached the ground and formed a platform along the back of its shoulder, so that the arm gripping the wall formed a bridge.

Taking the initiative, Quentin vowed that no other Legionnaire in his section would perish, "Devastator Crystals!" he barked. With half a dozen of the spheres in a small bag, he primed one, dropped it in to the bag, charmed the bag and with a mighty heavy hurled it upwards. "Banisheo!"

The bag sailed through the air, and smashed the Giant a little lower than anticipated, lodging and stick fast to the juncture of its neck and outstretched arm. The Death Eaters and Effingus were streaming up the ladder and across the platform, and down its arm towards the defenders who already cut the few leading the charge to ribbons with a variety of curses. The jaw of the beast vaporized as its head snapped backwards, its arms blown apart at the shoulder as it collapsed backwards amidst the screaming, shrieking mass of Death Eaters and Trolls still hanging on to the ladders. The few that had managed to stay on the arm, found themselves swinging on a pendulum as the massive fingers refused to release the wall, before they themselves took a short but fatal drop to the corpse strewn ground.

The defenders cheered wildly at the destruction of the siege tower, "Move back in! Cover the Wall!" urged Quentin, "Legion!" His voiced echoed up and down the wall courtesy of a sonorous charm, "Make the bastards bleed for every step they take!"

In the time it had taken them to repulse the single tower, six more of the living engines had crawled forward towards the walls. Unrelenting artillery fire from Teams 3, 6 and 9 had managed to cripple one, sending it crashing to the ground where it crushed at least a few dozen of the enemy horde beneath its bulk. Another had positioned itself directly in front of one of the defensive hard points. The creature's head was vaporized at point blank range and in also slumped lifeless to the ground.

A third reached the Gates and deployed successfully, after clearing a twenty meter swatch of the wall of all defenders giving the Effingus and Trolls plenty of room to mount their assault. The Legionnaires of Hufflepuff stood their ground to the last but were ultimately annihilated, only to have reinforcements smash in from farther along the wall scissor in to meet them. It was curse to hex and hand to hand, Tobias Jeffries held them with brute determination and brutality, leaving the walls choked thick with corpses of the effingus. They successfully removed the beast as a mortally wounded Tobias smashed his wand and arm through the eye of the beast to unleash a blasting hex which destroyed the creatures brain and part of it skull. The broken bone shards perforated him and he died, still clinging to the ruins of the skull. Sheena Hauke, Italian British muggleborn, slaughtered everything not wearing Legion colours atop the wall top in vengeance for the death of her boyfriend.

The fourth siege engine reached the walls east of the Gates where they had watched the fight against the other engines. The defenders banished dozens of sticking charm coated devastator crystals at the beast. It was stopped some fifteen meters from the wall, with its arm outstretched towards the wall. In an bizarre act of physics, it would remain standing there for the remainder of the war.

The remaining two trundled forward, slow and inexorably towards Harry. Under his careful eye, the artillery teams expended every last rocket in their arsenal, gutting one completely, the spray of blood and internal organ erupting from its back.

The last however, successfully latched on to the wall, extended its ladders and ramp and the Death Eaters howled the name of their Dark Lord and master as they surged forward. Harry had wisely ordered the battlements abandoned. And now he waited for the Death Eaters to reach the wall. "Legionnaires!" his voice a shout that echoed above the ferocity of combat, one that reached the length and breadth of the wall, in to the heart, and guts of every Legionnaire, of every single person defending the Castle, "We fight against oppression! Against Tyranny! Against Darkness! Today! We show these sonsofbitches who, we. Are! We are the Light! We are Legion!"

With a whispered spell, the air crackled around him, and wings of fire sprouted from behind his shoulder blades, growing wider, larger, expanding until the entire front rank of the Legion was enveloped in their warm embrace. With suddenness, the wings flapped, the stone beneath their feet turned a bright orange-red. A phoenix rose from the stone, axe clutched in one claw, a wand in the other. It radiated hues of red and gold, beaming down upon the defenders, an artificial sun, one that radiated a sense of righteous justice. A roaring wave of approval burst from the surrounding wizards and witches, and loud cracks burst into the air as they brandished their wands.

Harry looked around, at the thronging mass of firm, resolute, determined and unafraid free men and women who stood by his side. A smile graced his lips for the first time in days and he turned his back on his shoulders and adopted a two handed grip with his wand.

It was the subtlest of signals, and one that every member of the Legion recognized: The coming fight was going to be as bad as it ever gets.

Virtually every Legionnaire shifted their grip to match their Commanders, and he looked around, "Well, someone has been giving away my secrets," he said with a laugh, "If you cannot maintain it, switch back, I want heroics, not stupidity."

There was some laughter, a few dry chuckles. And he looked over his shoulders at the young men and women gathered around him, then across at the battlements where the Death Eaters were now getting their feet on to the wall.

Almost in unison, over a dozen sharp snap hisses were heard as Harry himself led the charge, the flowing meter long blade of magical energy emerging from the tip of his wand. Another episode that would go down in the history of the so-called "First Storm of Hogwarts" was about to begin.

Harry met the tide of Death Eaters and Trolls spilling from the siege engine in the narrow defiles of the battlements and ramparts of Hogwarts in a determined close combat brawl. Dozens fell to the blades of magical energy wielded like swords by the front rank of the defenders. Together, they cut a punishing line of death towards the siege Engine alongside almost forty others who flew and slew like avenging angels.

Forty against a near unending tide of the enemy, but Harry could see that they seemed to be killing the enemy as fast as they could stream across their living siege engine. He heard a yell and looked up and across the battlements to see Neville Longbottom leading a charge of some thirty or so from the far side of the battlements, effectively encircling and pinning the Death Eaters in place.

The two forces met in the middle, just shy of the reach of the giant's club. "Explosives!" hissed Harry as he deliberately stepped in to the path of the Giant's club and sheared it in half, taking off several of the monsters' fingers as well. Harry led a group of four forwards, cutting off the arm of the giant. It still stood, trying desperately to swat them with the still bleeding stump of its arm. "Under the Imperius Curse," thought Harry, "That's quite a feat."

They closed with the boarding arm of the creature and Harry advanced through the enemy, his blade carving through limbs and shields as he hacked off limbs wholesale, cutting a space at the base of the offending limb. A curse penetrated the mass of bodies and struck the Legionnaire carrying the explosives full in the face. Neville managed to catch him and together with Harry they primed a single crystal, stuffed it back in to the bulging bomb pouch and tossed the corpse on to the bridge, "May his family forgive me, thought Harry as they retreated in to the cover of the wall.

The first crystal detonated seconds later and a fraction of a second later, the rest of the munitions detonated as well. The beast shuddered and collapsed sideways and down, falling in to the enemy gathered at its feet.

The battle had raged since dusk and now, with the snow falling with unrepentant force, and a gusting wind ripping across the battlefield, the Dark Army of Lord Voldemort retreated, leaving hundreds dead. Despite the loss of their wards, the complete exhaustion of all their fire support assets, the walls was scarred and wounded, in more than one place it had been significantly weakened and in others, fractured to the point of collapse. None of it mattered as the defenders cut down the last of the fleeing attackers.

The First Storm had been resisted.


	24. Chapter 83 - The Second Storm

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 83

The Second Storm

Dawn stole over the tenth day of the conflict, and the haze of war hung over the castle and its attendant killing fields. The smoke had cleared and the rains had extinguished the burning flames but visibility was still a measly hundred or so meters from the tops of the badly fractured walls of the castle. From the semi demolished towers that dotted the Castle, they could see only slightly farther given the smoke and haze that effectively formed a boundary between the two sides of the war.

"Any movement?" asked Harry.

"Nothing," came the quiet reply from Fleur who was scanning the smoke bank with a pair of omniculors. Harry stared in to the smoke for a long moment and then sat down, leaning his back against the cool stone.

"Wish the fuckers would just get on with it," he muttered as his fingers twitched. He was craving a cigarette. He was craving displacement activity to provide a break from the monotony of waiting for them to come at the Castle again. Only this time, he knew they would overrun the walls, and fighting would spill in to the castle.

He looked up, studying the wavering wards – or rather what was left of them. They were more than imperfect: they were patchy, without cohesion and on the verge of collapse.

The terrain around Hogwarts worked in their favor because it forced the Dark Army to come at them in only one direction: up the winding path from the main gates.

The other approaches – the boats across the lake, and the bridge lead down to the Quidditch Pitch had been sealed in the most permanent fashions imaginable: The Giant Squid had been instructed by Rowena that nothing would be allowed to pass over or under the water. The Legion had also destroyed the docks, and left all manner of very nasty, lethal surprises in wait for anyone that did cross the lake and try to tie up. The Bridge and quite simply been sealed off on the castle side, and the Legion had executed a protracted and layered fall back, ensuring that the bridge was packed full of minions of darkness before blowing the bridge. They had left the same mixed bag of lethal surprises. A frontal assault was the only practical way in. However without wards…

Harry sighed. He wasn't sure what scared him more: literally Giant sized siege towers, or dragons breathing down hellfire from on high. The idea had always been to force the enemy to wear them down, but now, a week and a half in to the siege, even conservative estimates put enemy casualties in the hundreds.

At least the break in the fighting had made it possible for them to bring it supplies, tend their wounded and conduct some repair to their fortifications. But the next attack… it was the waiting that was really beginning to take its toll upon them. There had been more than half a dozen false alerts and fatigue was taking its toll: More than one man had been found asleep at their post, overcome by exhaustion.

Jill McDaniel sighed and slumped next to her Commander, taking a long pull on a charmed bottle of water and offered it to Harry. Harry took the proffered bottle and took a sip as well. It was slightly warm, which helped ward off the wintery cold of the Scottish nights. But then again, that was what warming charms were for. "Still thinking about the defences at the gates sir?"

"Yeah," said Harry as he capped the bottle and handed it back, "You've all done the impossible by fortifying it, but I'm scared it's not going to be enough to hold the bastards back." He knew that even with Dumbledore having fortified them, along with Flitwick and McGonagall, it was only a matter of time.

"We'll hold 'em," she replied, "We'll kill 'em. If we can't hold 'em, and if they kill us, we won't make it cheap for 'em." Harry studied the young woman crouched next to him. He felt a small portion of his already shredded soul die with her words. He had trained them, arranged their training and he had made child soldiers, killers out of children who should be focused on their first crush and their studies. Instead they were the last and only line of defence again Darkness.

The Patronus burst through the wall and settled in front of them both, "Observers detected movement in the smoke to the West. Stand to!"

Harry rose to his feet, "Ready?"

"Not really," she replied with a tired grin, "But we're getting tired of waiting."

Whatever Harry's reply was, it never left his mouth as cordon of spell fire smashed in to the fortifications. Millions of white hot shards of shrapnel whickered simply everywhere. He could hear the scream and calls for a medic. The Second Storm had begun with a change of tactics.

The First Storm had been an all-out assault the length and breadth of their walls. This time, the assault had opened with a barrage of spells that had vaporized the last of their wards, and the Dark Army was maintaining the bombardment rate, keeping the defenders reeling and pinned as they made a concerted assaults in three locations: The first was to breach the gate, the second was across the Black Lake, and the third was by using the Dragons to literally drop Death Eaters from the skies.

The assault across the Black Lake was doomed from its inception. While the Death Eaters certainly had the vessels, they had not counted on the Giant Squid, which proceeded to smash the smallest of the watercraft to matchstick kindling with unhurried blows of its tentacles before dealing with the larger vessels by using the same tentacles to enfold and then to either crush or tear the hulls of ships apart. It was the quickest resolved engagement of the Second Storm, and the first victory for the Legion defenders. However, they knew that they still had to hold the walls, hold fast and kill every last assailant, or die.

High in the sky, some fifty feet above the castle, the dragons executed yet another devastating pass, this time they leapt from the scaly backs of the dragons. They plunged head first, screaming through the sky towards earth rapidly approaching terminal velocity. The idea was perhaps ill conceived at best but successful enough to drop nearly a hundred Death Eaters in to the courtyard, behind the defenders manning the walls and defences.

"Perimeter breech! Repeat: Perimeter breeched in Centre Courtyard! They're… dropping out of the sky." The last part of the warning was repeated twice more, just to ensure it was received and confirmed. Once upon a time, their defence plans had included having a reserve corps of broom riders to take the fight to the enemy in the air within the umbrella of the wards. But the loss of their wards left anyone that went up painfully exposed.

The message went out to every Legionnaire but all were engaged at the wall, leaving only those ferrying munitions, supplies and the wounded to the infirmary, and the wounded themselves to fend of this incursion. Harry made the choice, "Potter to Legion: We are fully engaged! I need volunteers to hunt down and eliminate the incursion!"

In the Infirmary, more than one of the wound struggled to their feet, "What are you doing?" growled more than one of the medical cadre who realized the answer as soon as the question was asked, what the light and walking wounded were about to do, "You're nuts!" was the other frequently repeated refrain as the wounded drew their wands and set about hunting the Death Eaters, even as the dragons made yet another pass, bringing down the last of the castles' towers, and annihilating the last of their long range artillery team in the process.

For the ad hoc unit that had macabrely taken on the monikor, "The Wounded," found themselves being led by a sixth year Ravenclaw, Sybil McNamara who took command and mobilized those who answered the call. She had them running patrol sweeps throughout the castle in combat formations, checking corners, classrooms and all the angles even as hell itself erupted around them. They rounded a corner and suddenly found themselves face to face with the enemy. His first curse went wide, slamming and gouging a furrow of stone in to the air. Those stone shards saved his life as the two Killing Curses aimed missed to the left and right of him. He adjusted his aim and dropped a Death Eater with his second and then a third. Legionnaire accuracy drills proved their worth as both fell with pierced hearts.

Hell was erupting around them. As the forty strong "Wounded" brought the battle to the rear line of the Death Eaters now laying in to the wall defenders from the rear. Two Legionnaires flung themselves out from cover, following their Ravenclaw leader in to the fray, hexes and curses leaping from their outstretched wands.

Spells slashed back in return, flickering in multi-coloured, searing lines of death. Someone a few feet, or meters away was scream but Sean Dempsey shut it out, took careful aim with his wand, kept his breathing slow and then silently cast: A burst of amber light. Another black robed Death Eater spun of his feet.

He pulled a fragmentation sphere from a belt pouch, tapped it with his wand and hurled it. There was a crump and vortex of wind that carried the smell of burned blood back towards them. "If we can – "he began. Sybil and Catherine Ching never found out as a cutting curse lived up to its name and took off much of his face from just above the bridge of his nose before blowing out the back of his head. Horrifyingly, his body rose of its own accord and two more curses struck in the chest and leg. Another Legionnaire lost.

Ducking behind the rubble pile that had shielded them thus far, the scampered along it, and linked up with another group of four slightly farther along. A tremendous storm of spells hammered the former cover, and breached it in several places. One Legionnaire went down, cursing as blood spurted from the stumps of the fore and middle fingers on his right hand, which was still clutching what was left of his ruined wand. Catherine started to bind Philip's hand with conjured temporary bandages when Neville stepped from around a corner, the smell of burning and ash, sticking to him like a second skin.

Those few Legionnaires who had mastered the Dragon's Breath, demonstrated the effectiveness of their chosen weapon once more during the Second Storm. Neville crawled to the lip of their cover and sent a withering blast of fiery death over the top. He was already boasting "flame-tan" from the First Storm where he had personally washed the battlements and one of the living, Giant siege towers with enough flame to cock it apart. Legionnaires fell in alongside him, led by another of the wounded, Beatrice Wolverhampton.

"Best I can do!" shouted Catherine as she thrust a wand from one of their fallen comrades in to his left hand. Working on pure adrenalin and a lack of common sense, he engaged the enemy casting as best he could in to the mass of now shielded Death Eaters. Their wands flashed as spells were launched all along the eastern length of the wall.

Suddenly, Chris was gone, punctured by no less than a half dozen curses. In one of the most heroic actions of the Second Storm, Sybil ordered her Legionnaires to draw their blades and then stepped out from cover and led the charge against their silver half masked enemies. With no more than 15 Legionnaires around her, she engaged, killing the Death Eaters with both spell and blade as the destination of the Death Eaters became clear: The Castle Gates.

Sybil had fought in every Legion engagement: From Grimmauld Place through to the pitched street fighting against the Dementors in Newcastle upon Tyne, and then the near massacre at the Hogwarts Express coming here. She was a Legionnaire. She had her honour, but all she had seen, all she had done had hollowed out her soul. Fighting was something to be done. She let himself go and fought and killed, almost mechanically without caution and without fear. It was the only way to ensure that she was alive and would be alive.

And there was no time to get a message to Command, not in the midst of the swirling melee where spell fire was exchanged at point blank range and blades hacked and stabbed. The swirling savagery of such close fighting had raised the skills of each Legionnaire to a near instinctual and brutal level. Embroiled and embattled, the sheer press of bodies was keeping the dead upright. So much so, that they were killing the same Death Eaters twice over. The tide of black cloaked and hooded Death Eaters continued their heroic push forwards towards the Gates of Hogwarts, fighting against the press of bodies that kept he dead upright, long after they were dead.

Effingus Death Eater Percy Weasely still had more than two thirds of his force with him. They had fought, bled and died to get this close to the gates. Their original plan had been to find the mechanism controlling the gates, taking it over and then open the way for the forces of his Lord and Master. But the resistance mounted by mere school children had astounded him. That they had the walls and wards to support them was one thing. But their resistance was fanatical. But he was a fanatic in his own right. Every member of the hundred strong force had received personal mental conditioning from Lord Voldemort. They would open the gates, or bring them down by any means necessary. DE1 had realized that there would be no storming of the Gatehouse: When the Castle had gone in to lockdown the doors had vanished to be replaced by blank stone walls. Mentally conditioned by Lord Voldemort's Imperius Curse, there was no way around their orders as he lead his cohort to their objective and he had no doubt, to their deaths. A wave of blasting curses pounded the walls of the gate house, cracking then fracturing the heavy stone barrier.

The Legion were quick to turn to address the threat as spells lanced in to their ranks from above, cutting down a number of the Death Eaters as several more Legionnaires levitated stone and rubble to block the approach.

The Death Eaters responded like a single, giant gestalt organism, laying down a blistering curtain of spells as Percy charged towards the broken wall of the gatehouse structure clutching a simple leather pouch against his hip. The pouch contained the two canisters of liquid that when combined would produce a blast powerful enough to bring down a muggle building with ease. If he was struck down, there was a good chance that he would not only vaporize himself, but most, if not all of his surroundings as well – not that he would be in any position to complain if that did happen.

He came to a rest with his back against the broken stone in an enfiladed position, temporary immune to fire from the top of the wall, and only vulnerable to the children who had pursued him and his Death Eaters halfway across the castle. Two of his fellows fell in to cover alongside him. One was already wounded, and the second slumped to the ground, his body perforated and burned. "Give them to me." Wordlessly, he was handed a similar pouch and then a third from the corpse of his fallen kinsman. "For the Dark Lord, my brother."

"For the Dark Lord," agreed Alecto Carrows.

She threw herself forward and in to the line, conjuring a wall of flickering yellow-red flames before cutting lose with a salvo of rapid fire hexes and curses. Following her lead, almost a dozen others followed her lead, forcing the pursuing elements of the Legion to find cover. Standing out in the open, made her a target for a half dozen wands that cut her down instantly. But she had served her purpose, shielding him from the spell fire that would have otherwise cut him down well short of the target even a storm of curses and hexes whipped around him. Those who saw it and lived to talk about it on both sides would not hesitate to call it a miracle. He was less than a meter from the door when a hex clipped the back of his knee and sent him sprawling through the blast ruined wall.

Percy gasped in pain as he managed to roll himself over. He studied his ruined leg for a moment. He ground out the incantation for a spell and gritted his teeth, holding back a scream of pain as the flames seared the bedraggled stump of his leg. He was going to die. He was certain of that now. He was so close. But he would die with honour, having served his Lord to the best of his ability.

The Legion had left no one to guard the precious mechanism because they were sealed away. How wrong they had been. He smiled through the pain. He could see the massive gears and counterweights that kept the gates closed. He could see the chains that kept the counterweights in place and thus prevented the gates of Hogwarts from opening.

He was running short of time: He could hear the cacophony of battle grew closer. No doubt his fellow Death Eaters were pulling tight around the small, almost non-descript building, that was more of a carbuncle attached to the wall than actual structure. They would buy him time to achieve this task, the culmination of his life. That he was certain of.

He pulled the pouches in to a pile, the containers rattling dangerous together. He was dizzy enough not to care as a sticking charm glued them together before he calmly levitated them with a swish and flick of his wand. "Thy will be done," he gasped, before he banished the volatile potions mix up towards the heavy, greased chains that ran along the far wall of the building, "My lord."

The roof of the building exploded upwards and outwards. Stone rained down in every direction upon both sides of the wall as a colossal jet of fire stained the dark skies a shade of malevolent yellow and bloody pink. The ground was cratered where the gate house had once stood, and one half of the massive gates to the Castle now lay in broken ruin, torn completely from its hinges.

Far above the now ruined gates of Hogwarts Castle, smoke curled cyclonically like an ink stained whirlpool, as the raging firestorm raged and stone melted beneath the lick of flames until the already improvised gateway collapsed, sliding like a ship launched from dry dock in to the ground where the hungry fire continued to cling and eat away the wreckage.

The first Death Eaters stormed through the breach. And like all who are first in to the breech, they were greeted in the traditional fashion by the defenders: Massed defensive firepower.

Two of the Wounded went down. One with his chest ripped asunder, a second through a vicious hit to the groin and his screams echoed around them. A third ran through the horizontal rain of spells to grab her twice wounded comrade. An enemy blasting hex struck her full in the face, obliterating her head and most of her upper torso as well. They snipped from amidst the rubble and ruins at the oncoming storm troopers only to find that they literally refused to die: only precise headshots appeared to drop the foe so that they would not rise again. More than one of the Legionnaires blanched as precise kill shots passed through them cleanly. The defenders clearly had no such advantage and were quickly on the back foot, and then on the verge of being overrun.

"Withdraw! Stagger and layer our fall back!" Sybil ordered. She hurriedly composed a patronus message and sent it back to Command before taking charge of the withdrawal and to her credit, managed to keep it from turning in to a total rout as the morning itself rose above them all, and once again, it began to snow. "Damn Scottish weather!"

At the collapse of the gate, Harry had turned his attention from the enemy outside the wall, to those that were now inside. He could see the enemy reserves and for the first time since in ten days, he smiled with satisfaction: He could see the last of the enemy reserve pushing up to force an assault to take the gates. He knew this was the last of their reserves because he could see his nemesis moving at the heart of this last enemy formation: The nose free flattened snake like features of Lord Voldemort, locked in a near permanent sneer seemed to latch on the Harry's own scarred and bloody face. They locked eyes for a moment, and Harry raised his wand, pressing the tip to his forehead in a mock salute to his lifelong enemy before turning his attention back to the battle at hand.

The air was thick with hexes and curses zig-zagging back across the entrance court yard and there were gouts of flame from Dragon's Breath and balls of exploding flame lighting up the battlefield. Harry ducked in to cover as a fireball smashed in to the ground, throwing up a hasty shield as he did so.

A patronus floated down next time him. Neville was driving a wedge forward from the Western courtyard. He wanted Harry to support the push to drive them out. Harry used his ring, tapping out a message to everyone, man to man to unify a coordinated effort but the Death Eaters were everywhere. More than three quarters of their strength was raising hell for the still incoming enemy. By his best estimate, the Death Eater still held the numerical advantage of almost two to one. When their reinforcements hit, then it would be three to one.

The Legionnaires around him pulled back slightly, consolidating their numbers and their perimeter, taking cover as a number of Legionnaires hasty transfigured, levitated and literally forged fortifications under fire as spells continue to shriek and sizzle through the gate. The sky overhead opened up once again, dousing the castle, its grounds and the combatants in sheets of torrential rain. The fighting continued.

Neville studied the battlefield and sent his message and began to lead four others out in to the open, plodding in to the open, spreading wider. Each of them carried the shrunken down flame thrower affectionately referred to as the Dragon's Breath. "Fire Warriors," exhaled Neville, as they arrived in place, standing upright, and tall amidst the rubble. Spells hissed, cracked and flashed around them. There were two legionnaires with each of the Fire Warriors, their sole task to maintain shields and solid barriers for defence. "Let's see them."

The enchanted tasks sloshed and gurgled as the first of the Death Eaters charged out of the smoke and fog, dodging rubble and still burning stone. Spells flashed and deflected off their shields deflected sideways and up in to the sky. The Death Eaters raised a howling cry as they advanced. They adjusted a number of switches along the side of the weapons; a sharp chemical spell tinged the air.

"Cook 'em!"

Flames roiled from the muzzles of their weapons, a mix of blue and red in a wide swatch that hugged the ground. The searing plumes raged forward and the front line of the charging Death Eaters were caught in the inferno, shrieking and staggering, they became walking candles enveloped in flame.

Gouts of liquid flame encompassed the second and part of the third waves, leaving more and more of the Death Eaters stumbling, encased in fire even as the drizzle of rain became a shower. A Legionnaire fell wordlessly, his lower jaw, neck and throat blasted away. Harry could see the Death Eaters piling on to them like a tidal wave. He turned and killed three as a spray of curses cut down another pair of Legionnaires, spraying the wall with blood. Stephan Crawford was taken apart as curses smashed in to his elbow, knee, chest and a killing curse flipped him half way heads over heels as the brutally intense fighting continued

The tide turned in favour of the defenders as a full spread of reductor, piercing and blasting hexes cut across the embattled gates of the Castle. The Wounded had fallen back obliquely, allowing them to provide supporting fire. Insanely, Sybil was singing at the top of her lungs, a rendition of the Legion's Battle Pledge and oath, yet was somehow still able to pull those retreating or falling back in good order to fall in alongside her counter charge to push back the Death Eaters.

The dying continued as bodies were torn apart by explosive shrapnel. Spell fire shredded Trolls. Patronus Charms slew Dementors and the Death Eaters bled for every inch of ground they laid claim to. In minutes, dozens of new corpses littered the ground. The defenders continued their bombardment even as their assailants shielded or threw themselves to the ground before responding with their own spells. Light flashed and danced back and forth as both sides fought for control of the gatehouse.

It was just before dusk once again when the Death Eaters retreated beneath banks of fog and smoke that drifted lazily over the ruined battlements of the castle like a joyless carpet. The outer walls had nearly been overrun in several places, and the outer defences were on the point of collapse. Walls were cracked and radiating fractures, fires continued to burn, and the dead were strewn simply everywhere imaginable.

The Second Storm had broken the outer defences in more than one place, and it was quickly agreed to that there would be no point in even attempting to effect repairs. The Second Storm had come close to breaking the back of their resistance. But they were still alive, and the students, professors and everyone else would make preparations to die standing.


	25. Chapter 84 - Awe Inspiring Savagery

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Also like to extend thanks to the second beta reader on this project: XxHecatexX. She's been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 84:

Awe Inspiring Savagery

They came at dawn in full strength. The walls were shattered and broken. The gatehouse was nothing more than a gently smouldering ruin. There was no keeping them out of the courtyard that lead up the doors of the Castle. The wards had dissipated long ago, and the ancient stone walls, its towers, balconies and windows bore their wounds and scars of battle with honour, veterans in their own right.

The defenders had fallen back at the first sign of the assault and were now using the castle itself as their final bastion. The fight would come down to keeping them out of the castle itself. The last of their defences were already prepped and in place and orders were clear to all involved. Ernie McMillian noted that the enemy had crossed the outer marker as his partner in crime Sierra Malkin oversaw the last of the defenders, pulling in to the castle as the doors slammed shut with a shuddering crash of finality. The blur in the distance grew close and took form and shape. Death Eaters and the Effingus, a scattering of Dementors, a few trolls. But no Giants and even better: No dragons. The enemy was pushing hard, and she could see the Effingus leading the cheerful charge.

The defences of the castle were a series of overlapping ambushes and retreats to split up the advancing enemy and overwhelm them in turn. Legion Control would be able to provide an overview of the fighting and hopefully keep communications clear. The vast majority of the students were already holding the Great Hall. Others were stationed in smaller groups at set points designed to cover the first retreats and deploy countermeasures. Rowena herself would be crucial to their defences. She had animated the suits of armour that dotted the hallways of the castle, and many of her staircases would move to maximize confusion and casualties.

Harry stood alongside the defenders, behind a double rank of the armour suits, watching the front doors as the Patronus came down the stairs, coming to a rest in front of him. "Range in twenty." He sent an acknowledgment, and transferred full authority over the first line of external defence. To Legion Command.

Lord Voldemort watched the defenders retreat, abandoning the walls and their defences, fleeing before the might and numbers of Lord Voldemort's army. "It would appear that they are retreating," his voice was high with amusement and a malicious smile creased his features as his Death Eaters laughed sycophantically, "Hogwarts Castle is our final destination!" he said, "Our enemy lies within! They can no longer hide behind their powerful wards! Their walls are in tatters!" he proclaimed, "Advanced my loyal followers! Strike! Strike at the enemies of our world! Death Eaters: Advance and Attack!"

Bruce Springfield, third year Ravenclaw felt sweat bead upon his brow before trickling down the side of his face. He ignored it. His focus was completely upon the magical display in front of him. It showed the progress of the Dark Army as they crossed the fifty meter mark, well within effective range, "Loose!"

Over a hundred bow strings thrummed as the volley of arrows were launched skywards. At the apex of their flight, they pivoted and slammed down in to the front ranks of the Effingus Death Eaters. Every single arrow successfully hit something. Two trolls went down as did almost two dozen Effingus, many were perforated with multiple arrows. The second, third and fourth salvos rained down, but Voldemort was ahead of the curve, conjuring a solid shield before him, expanding it to provide some cover to his Death Eaters. His lieutenants screamed for order, for everyone to back up and conjure solid shields to deflect the rain of arrows. "Muggle archery," muttered Voldemort, "I did not expect such dogged resistance, nor did I expect them to sink, to such a low!" He studied the ground which was studded with arrows, and stared up at the castle. The towers were a good bet, but even as he watched, he saw specks of movement as defenders rained arrows on to his forces from windows and balconies all over the place. His voice dropped in volume, as the temperature around him fell an equal number of degrees as his anger rose, "Break. Down. Those. Doors!"

The first group charged with wands raised and aimed as another wave of arrows slammed down, only to be defeated by their conjured shields. The bombardment of hexes and curses however, was another matter as many were violently killed or blasted apart. A second group charged in hot on the heels of the first and blasted back at the defenders who immediately ducked behind their thick stone cover. Both attacking groups swiftly merged, from groups who maintained shields while others lay down suppressive fire and pushed their way forward. Lord Voldemort himself advanced, stalking forward like a jungle predator, black robe billowing as the lust for battle began to sing in his veins.

The doors were still some forty meters distant as his wand spun and twirled. Targeted by at least six different Legionnaires, he deflected, slapped aside or absorbed the incoming arrows and spells, without interrupting his spell casting. With a blast of thunderous sound an angry red and ochre beam smashed in to the gates. They shuddered on their hinges beneath the assault as the hastily, localized wards upon the doors were depleted. With a very uncharacteristic and terrifying smile of enjoyment upon his face, he continued to prowl forward as he hear his Death Eaters cast their own spells towards the still formidable castle doors under the guidance of his more than capable Inner Circle. They were hitting the doors with alternating barrages of fire; ice intermingled with the occasional blast of raw power.

Voldemort held his ground, maintaining a shield to protect his most loyal as the great doors began to splinter and crack. Harry studied the doors as cracks began to run up and down its length. He felt the ring grow warm again on his finger, but didn't need to read. He knew that it reported the evacuation of the outer defences were complete. The door shuddered, the cracks splintered in to fissures.

"We're in deep shit here," remarked Ernie. He wore a bandage around his upper arm and mid-thigh on opposing limbs. His brown eyes were alight with a cold determination.

"We'll get through this," grunted Neville, the wizard's knuckles white as bone around the grip of his wand.

Harry opened his mouth to reply when the fissures carved in to the cracked doors ruptured, sending wood, stone and steel through the entrance hall. Everyone ducked in to cover as the deadly rain fell upon them for only a moment. But that moment in cover saw dozens of the black robed silver masked enemy charge in to the entrance hall. The first blistering volley cut down nearly the entire front rank of the enemy.

A curse cracked in to the stone pillar, missing Harry's head by a matter of inches. Stone dust lightly seasoned his hair as he gathered his magic and then swivelled out to meet the foe. A shield snapped in to place along his left forearm as an ocean blue bolt of magic flared from the tip of the wand. A cluster of Death Eaters were blown off their feet as Harry led the counter charge in to the teeth of the enemy. Four Death Eaters unleashed the same curse, a sparkling scarlet that rocketed towards him. With ease, Harry deflected back to their casters with a simply swish of his wand, only after amplifying their speed and power. The spell impact blasted through their shield charms and pulverised them.

With breaking stride, he levelled his free hand and without uttering a word, yanked a Death Eater off its feet towards him. His wand rolled between his fingers, his grip switching round as a blade of pure magical energy erupted from the tip, extending until it was almost a meter in length, skewering the hapless Death Eater through the chest.

Up in the towers overlooking the castle, the commanders of the Archers could clearly see that the enemy was within their walls, "Brigade: Alpha break!"

In charge of the defence and leading the defence from the front, Harry ordered a slight retreat. The fighting continued as the defenders gave some ground, pulling them in to the foyer of the Castle, just out of blast range.

The path and lawn leading up to the castle exploded in to a massive wall of screaming flame that devoured everything it touched. The defenders had spent a good part of the pre-dawn hours soaking the ground in the liquid components of the Dragon's Breath fuel supply. When mixed together, they were incredibly volatile. Harry was amazed that so much magic being cast over the stuff had not ignited the fumes. The flames reached almost twenty feet high and consumed much of the initial attackers. Those few that made it in to the castle itself found themselves cut off by the flames as a wave of spells penetrated their shields and perforated the isolated few Death Eaters. "Guess you were right about the fumes dissipating," remarked Harry.

Neville shrugged, "I just wish we could do something about the current smell." It was a mix of boiling blood, seared flesh and cooking stone as the foundations of the doors began to melt under the extreme heat, widening the breach in the castle's defences. The flames would burn with ferocity but only for a few more minutes.

Voldemort was quick to adjust, using what rubble and corpses he could find as shields while the rest of his forces began to batter down the walls to widen the breech, eliminating the bottleneck. Moving forward, the Death Eaters fired a volley in to the ceiling, showering the defenders with chucks of stone and rock, wounding and killing several of the Legionnaires out right.

"Retreat to position two!" ordered Harry. The frontlines withdrew smoothly, dodging spells, hexes and curses that lanced through the now broken doorway. The retreat was not without its unfair share of casualties. Moving back to the various balconies and overlooks, the defenders pointed their wands at the doorway.

The castle itself had a plethora of defences, chief amongst them were the wards and walls, added many years after its original construction. As such, those defences within the castle itself could only function within the castle proper. Those defences stepped down from their alcoves, forming a front rank of stone and steel statues brought to life at Rowena command. They were all heavily armoured and even more heavily armed, each standing between ten and twelve feet tall, armed with gigantic swords, held in a cross across their chests. In total, some eighty students, twelve statues and six professors now held the Foyer and Entrance Hall of Hogwarts Castle against the Dark Army that had spent days bleeding against their defences.

The Patronus flirted down through the stone ceiling but was obliterated by a rapid burst of three coppery green bolts that mowed through two of the castle own defenders like a knife through butter. Stone slivers incapacitated two Legionnaires. Professor Vector wand arm was severed mind-forearm by metal shrapnel moments before a high speed projectile struck her in the face.

Neville was standing right next to her, and watched in horror as her face formed a frown, then grimace and then adopted an impossible expression as a chunk of sword blade punched in to her nose, and sucked her face in upon itself, moments before it exploded out the back of her head along with fragments of skull and brain matter drizzling down.

The Dark Army charged in to the castle and met the stone statues that sprang to life, swords drawn and shields raised. A number of Effingus fired curses but most bounced off without effect. The killing curse does not affect the non-living after all. Guiding the constructs, Rowena guided them in a slaughter even as the statues were cut down with a combination of blasting hexes, cutting curses and other dark magics.

The spell fire punished the statues that lead the defence and as the last one fell, Harry estimated over a hundred enemy dead in the just the entrance hall. But even with the advantage of a kill-zone, and higher ground, Harry found himself being forced to call one retreat after another using Devastor Crystals, Dragon's Breath in conjunction with fire-and-manoeuvre tactics until they were practically on top of the Great Hall and its pre-prepared positions. Killing the enemy was having next to no effect as they simply expended manpower in a manner not seen since the attrition wars of the Napoleonic Era where the side willing to bleed the most, and lose the most men would win. Indeed, the Death Eaters seemed to have two replacements for every one that they lost.

The last of the statues screeched in protest as its four arms wept laterally from left and right and smashed in to a violet shield. Lord Voldemort finally crossed the threshold of the Hogwarts. His crimson eyes gleamed with battle lust and pleasure at the scent of death and battle. His upheld wand by only his fingertips twitched and the shield inverted, wrapping itself around the sword wielding defender before powerful, invisible forces crushed, forcing its arms and legs to cave in as its sundered torso was carelessly flung across the room. The Inner Circle added their powerful skill and experience to the battle as Crimson Eyes locked with emerald green.

They advanced towards one another, Legionnaires and Death Eaters alike parting before their Commander and Master respectively. They stopped by unspoken, yet mutual consent some ten meters apart. "Just like the graveyard" mused Harry, as he saluted his foe with his wand, "Welcome to Hogwarts" Harry said coldly as he dropped in to a duellist stance, "Tom Marvolo Riddle."

The Dark Lord hissed in wordless anger but observed the formalities, with a very slightly bow before adopting a more serpentine stance, wand raised overhead and attacked with his trademark killing curse. The torso of a broken statue leapt from the floor, intercepting the curse as Dumbledore himself stepped forward. "What the hell are you doing?" growled Harry.

"What I should have done, many years ago. What I failed to do when it came to Grindelwald," replied the headmaster calmly as he raised his own wand, "I will delay Voldemort for as long as I am able. Use the time: Rally your Legion and see to your stratagem. Today, you will end this, Mr. Potter."

Harry was about to growl a response when the fight broke out for real, as a series of curses snapped past the duo. "You cannot match me Tom!" Dumbledore called as a series of explosive hexes blasted the flagstones at Voldemort's feet in to a hail of stone knives.

Voledmort shielded easily, "I cannot be killed Dumbledore," he cast a spread of killing curses, "I am farther along the path to immortality than you could possibly realise. Death is not a limitation!"

"Perhaps not," said Dumbledore amicably, as a flick of his wand moved the stone torso to block the curses, before banishing the broken stone shards backwards. "But your lack of imagination and creativity," the hourglasses that displayed the house points shattered, and hundreds of faux gemstones sped towards Voldemort, glowing with a magical heat, "is a limitation."

The wave of projectiles smashed off a conjured shield of stone and metal moments before he sharp shriek of agony escaped the lipless mouth of the Dark Lord. A rope of flame seared in to the flesh of his left arm. With a crack that echoed around the entrance hall, the flame froze and shattered moments before a dark wave of blackness raced towards the Headmaster.

With only seconds, he managed to redirect its path. The curse crashed in to the head table, pulverising stone and wood and much of the entire area. Risking a glance towards the doors, he could see that they were being pushed back as the dark army crossed the threshold of the castle. A trio of cutting curses cleaved in to the Dark Lord's back, from right shoulder to left hip.

Voldemort faltered for a moment snarling in anger, "I will crush you beneath my boot and keep your soul as a personal plaything!"

Albus Dumbledore simply smiled, satisfied that he had drawn first blood, and proven to all that the Dark Lord was not immortal as he raised his wand and adopted a more defensive stance. He shielded and deflected with long practiced ease before bringing down the ceiling with a wave of magic: A little more time for the besieged.

There was a strong smell of ozone and burnt magic, a crackling feel of static upon the skin, the overpowering smell of spilt blood and charred flesh. Harry ducked below an incoming curse and his wand flashed as a piercing curse streaked in to his target's chest, killing it instantly. He ducked in to cover behind a pillar and took a moment to gather his breath. Taking a moment, he pulled the Marauder's Map from a pocket and studied it, noting where his forces had fallen back, and where they were still holding the line, and holding hard against their enemy.

He snarled in frustration and dispatched several patroni and tapped out a message to his Commanders, ordering a full retreat to the Grand Staircase on the far side of the Great Hall. The high ground would give them a momentary advantage. They had few advantages left and would need every single one in the coming hours.

His wand spun through the air, a circle overlaying a triangle before a harsh vertical slash and a poke. Demolisher crystals exploded, a string of firecrackers that crept up the walls and across the ceiling, bringing down tons of stone. Rowena herself had agreed to the drastic necessity of such a measure when it had first been proposed. Doing the best she could, a shimmering field of wards enveloped the stone. It would just buy them some time.

"The Wounded," a unit that had proved its worth in the earlier days of the siege and in their counter assault against the dragon dropped Death Eaters. They were led by a different face, but still provided ample support and cover fire as they retreated up the stairs and reinforced the already entrenched defenders. "Where's Sybil?" shouted Harry.

"Slain," came the quiet reply from Beatrice, "Died buying time for us to fall back when we lost the greenhouses along with Sprout and Vector."

"Damn!" thought Harry as he hung back at the bottom of the staircase as his Legionnaires and students streamed past him. He paused as the headmaster staggered towards Harry, limping slightly as he bled from a number of shallow cuts and wounds. They stared at each other for a long, long moment, before Harry grabbed the man's arm, supporting him to the base of the stairs "Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Mr. Potter." The made their way up the stairs together, "I have failed you Mr. Potter," said the headmaster quietly, breathing slowly but heavily, as blood stained his robes from the wounds to his shoulder and upper arm. They stood together at the top of the stairs, overlooking the Great Hall, the fallen students, the staff, and the Death Eaters. "At the end of it all," thought Dumbledore, "we all bleed the same." He drew a bundle of papers from the front pocket of his robes, neatly wrapped, "My last will and testament," explained Dumbledore, "leaves the entirety of the House of Dumbledore to you." His eyes twinkled slightly, "There is not much, but I hope that it will serve you well."

With a start, Harry realized that the twinkle was not a signature wizarding effect, as it became a sparkle. These were tears, of what, or for whom, or why, Harry could not say. "You're not dying here you idiot," snapped Harry, "We planned for…" Harry came to an abrupt stop as he had an epiphany, "… you want this don't you?"

The headmaster nodded slightly, "We have walked different paths, and though they have converged and diverged repeatedly, this is where we part ways for the last time, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore, "Hogwarts will not fall, not while you still stand to defend her, and everything that she stands for. He is mortal and can be killed. Despite our… differences, and for what it is worth, I am proud of the man you have become. I have abandoned much, lost sight of a great deal more…" His voice trailed off, eyes misting as he coughed up a mouthful of blood. "Hogwarts has been my home for the greater part of a century. Prepare your warriors, and may you find victory this day as you fight."

Harry blinked in surprise at the use of a more traditional Goblin blessing, normally given upon the eve of battle, "Fight well, and drench you blade in the blood of your enemies," replied Harry with a nod as he made his way up the stairs.

He was about to turn when he spoke for the last time, "Mr. Potter… I have a final request, if I may?"

Harry turned to face his former mentor, turned nemesis, turned partial ally with a cautious nod, "When this is over, after Voldemort has been defeated, promise me: Do not shoulder the blame or responsibility for all that has transpired. Love… and live your life to its fullest."

"I will."

"Promise me, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore.

Harry hesitated for a moment, "I promise." He held out his hand, "I wish… things were different."

They shook hands, for the first and last time, "As do I." It would take a whole other world for there to be friendship and true brotherhood between the two men. But in the here and now, they parted company as respectful acquaintances. Dumbledore broke away from him, his eyes looking over the balconies and railings where the full strength of the Legion now stood. "We will see each other again someday." It was good bye. They both knew it, but neither would say the words.

Harry was halfway up the stairs when he recalled the words, something about acidic hate" damaging both the vessel that contained it as well as what it sought to destroy." He turned, "When that day comes, call me Harry!"

"Only if you call me Albus!" Dumbledore did not walk alone as Fillius Flitwick leapt the balcony and joined the headmaster in his walk, "You should not be here, old friend," said Dumbledore quietly.

"Where else should I be?" replied the Charms Master demurely, "Hogwarts is my home, much as it is yours."

"Indeed."

Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore turned towards the mountain of stone and calmly, a curved shield snapping in to place in front of him as the stone began to glow a deep volcanic mix of red and orange. Moments later, the wards collapsed as a wave of near molten stone blasted past around the shield, splattering the walls, floor and base of the staircase, singeing stone, charring wood and bone as it vaporized cloth and flesh. Dumbledore lowered his shield as Voldemort stepped through the smoking aperture.

"This ends now, Dumbledore!"

"Indeed it does, Tom." His wand was already in motion as a flame whip snapped towards Voldemort. The flames were transfigured in to a giant serpent which was banished with ease as he followed up with a barrage of Reductors, Blasting and Cutting curses. Weakened, the Dark Lord fell back, opting for a duelist shield over a full shield to conserve his remaining strength.

A lone redactor slipped by the shield, and pulverised his right knee. Biting through his tongue, Voldemort's wand wove a complex healing spell that would restore his mobility for a few hours at least. Following up, Dumbledore lashed open the chest of Dark Lord with Severus Snape's own infamous cutting curse.

He fell back slightly, trusting in Harry to not let this opportunity go to waste: The Death Eaters, the true fanatics of Voldemort cause streamed past the duelling pair, knowing that interference would mean death. Dumbledore fought with an intensity not seen since his youth, since his duel with Grindenwald. Dumbledore was not fighting for his life. He fought for his school, his home and his students.

Voldemort roared in rage and disbelief as his opponent battled on, "Why. Won't. You. DIE?!" Dumbledore conjured a wall of granite as a trio of snap casted killing curses streaked towards him. Two curses were stopped, spraying stone shards in to the face of the headmaster. A flaring nimbus of flame erupted and Fawkes intercepted the final curse, dying and reborn all at once.

Having the high ground yet again, the defenders used it to devastating effect, cutting down the swarming Death Eaters. Harry was at the forefront, shielding and deflecting with one hand while spells leapt from his wand. A vibrantly bright yellow and red beam seared a Death Eater with barely a sound as flesh sizzled in to char. Harry spun, his wand banishing matched spears of ice at another target, even as a shield snapped in to place. A blasting hex was redirected in to ceiling, raining stone shards and dust on to the defenders.

Alongside him, the duel had crossed much of the open ground, and the headmaster and Flitwick held the bottom of the stairs against Voldemort who matched both his adversaries in terms of physical aggressions, endurance and staying power as they mixed and matched offensive magic with Transfiguration and Charms. But all those watching, could clearly see that the Dark Lord was able to hold his own against two opponents. And that his opponents were not just any wizards, but Albus Dumbledore himself, and an internationally renowned duelling champion and charms master: Fillius Flitwick.

Studying the scene before him, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the numbers would truly overwhelm those still engaged in a brawl to decide the fate of Light and Dark. Without hesitation, he cast a pulling charm, twisting it so that it pulled _himself_ towards the target: The ruined doors to the Great Hall. Spells flashed past and chased him through the air as he landed and dove between the legs of the Death Eaters, more than happy to kill each other in a desperate attempt to kill him.

Casting a shockwave charm, at least a dozen fell, their leg bones and lower legs destroyed; Flitwick rose to his full three foot height, his face was a mix of determination yet resignation as he flicked his wand in a series of forceful patterns, as a wash of powerful magic radiated in to the walls and ceilings: He stood his ground for a long moment as a series of hexes and curses smashed in to the refraction shield he had erected, allowing him to absorb the raw magical energy from the incoming barrage, channelling it in to himself. He knew that he would have only moments before the sheer quantity of magical energy killed him.

He stared at the array of defenders, his students, his classmates, his friends, for a long moment, "Goodbye, my friends." His shield collapsed outwards in a flaring corona of energy as he cast what would be his final spell, "Tempestatem Infernus!" His voice was a shout of rage and power that reverberated around the corridor as his wand levelled towards the broken doors of the castle. The last thing he saw was the blend of shocked, scared and terrified faces as the expanding nimbus became a roiling ring of fire. The ground grumbled then exploded as a ripping stone and rock and flame first obliterated the tangle of Death Eaters and then cracked the walls. More were obliterated, bodies crisped by the flames as stone shards tore through robes and flesh, cut in to ribbons, leaving barely recognizable corpses in their wake.

Three writhed on the broken stone floor, barely alive as their life blood leaked out across the flagstones as the flames have congealed the blood of the slain as the arch rivals let the last of the heat fade which waiting behind their shields. Those fighting within the confines of the castle were sealed within, the entrance to the Great Hall blocked by fallen stone, melted together by the majestic power of the last spell cast by Fillius Flitwick.

Both let the stone dust settle as the smoke cleared, "He was powerful, for a half breed," remarked the Dark Lord as he sized up his opponent, adopting a more aggressive duelling stance, with his wand held chest high, spreading his weight evenly on both legs.

"He was," agreed Dumbledore, "He was no mere half-breed however: He was my friend!" A jagged bolt of flame lashed towards his foe. Voldemort transfigured the tongue of flame in to a serpent, weakening himself even as rage fuelled the Dark Lord.

Standing his ground, Dumbledore banished the reptile as an array of cutting curses leapt from his wand. The Dark Lord gave ground as he blocked and evaded, saving his strength. Where Voldemort was driven by anger, Dumbledore was continually driven by what he fought: His school, and his students. A blasting curse broke the flagstones under foot, stone shards cutting in to the calves of the Dark Lord as a bone breaking hex smashed in to the Dark Lords chest, shattering a number of his ribs. Albus Dumbledore did not have much more to give, but he knew it did not matter. Just a little more, then he could rest. He would be able to enjoy an eternity of rest.

Voldemort roared, a blend of rage, pain and disbelief as Dumbledore pressed the assault. The Dark Lord snapped his head up, his gaze suddenly catching Dumbledore's, a piercing legilimency attack that was easily defeated by the impressive mental defences of Albus Dumbledore. But it was merely a feint, one that caused the steady assault to falter for a fraction of an instant - A fraction too long: "Avada Kedavra!"

The bolt of acidic green death seemed to dribble off the tip off Voldemort's wand, crossing the expanse towards its target with infinite slowness. Those who watched it from the balcony would later describe it as one of the worst moments of their lives, as if the light itself was being snuffed out, leaving a dark trail in its wake. The curse did not strike with the brutality of any hex or curse, but seemed to caress the headmaster's robes gently, spidery lines of green lightning flickering outward from his chest. There was a mix of serenity and pleasant surprise upon the face of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore as he slumped over to his knees, and then rolled on to his side, wand rolling across the broken ground.

It was that moment, when all combat seemed to pause, as the Legionnaires ceased fire in disbelief, and the Death Eaters fell back, forming a rough semi-circle around their master. Voldemort stared at the body for a long moment before he began to laugh. Voldemort stretched out his left arm and a moment later, Nagina flowed out of the sleeve and coiled lazily at its master's feet. The Dark Lord hissed to his familiar and she turned, bringing herself upright as she unhinged her jaw, dripping venom on to the robes of the fallen headmaster.

"No!" a single voice rose in a defiant scream. It was a cry of pain and rage. It was a cry of the wronged. It was a cry seeking justice, "You shall not touch him!" Minerva McGonagall advanced down the stairs, casting a stream of spells. Fire, lightning and ice leaping from her wand as rubble transfigured and animated. Voldemort countered swiftly, block, deflecting and countering what he could but her aggression had snapped the Legion from their stupor.

"All offensive! McGonagall's target!" roared Neville as he advanced down the stairs to stand alongside the professor he had feared and respected in equal measures for years. Where Voldemort could hold against a single infuriated witch, and perhaps even Neville Longbottom with ease, the bombardment lasted a little over twenty seconds, but hundreds of spells crashed in to the Dark Lord's familiar. Even her magical constitution and toughened hide could not withstand such abuse as she every bone within her body was alternately crushed, burnt, broken, pulverised and cut.

Voldemort was left thunderstruck at the death of his beloved familiar, and at the loss of a Horcrux. A part of his mind noted with detachment that not a single spell had actually struck the prone form of the deceased Albus Dumbledore. Not that he was overly concerned with either, as only a portion of his soul was lost, and that he had many more Horcruxes were secreted across the country. Not true immortality but then, he knew he was farther along his chosen path than anyone else could possibly imagine. He turned his attention to the Legionnaires and unleashed blast after blast of raw magic in to the landing and balconies that overlooked the Great Hall. His Death Eaters joined in, obliterating several of the stone balconies and the Legionnaires behind them.

"My most loyal! My most faithful!" shouted Voldemort, "Now is your time! Show these insolent children who is the true master of the Wizarding World!" The Death Eaters howled in adulation and followed their Dark Lord in to battle. They fought their way through the rain of spells, casting as they went. Harry saw that these were no Effingus. These were true Death Eaters who believed in their cause. Warriors of courage as volley after volley of lethally effective Legion spell fire harvested a bloody toll.

They advanced to the bottom of the grand staircase, heedless of their losses as Voldemort himself stepped forward to lend the strength of his shield to the assault. The grand staircase was a killing ground: Fully bracketed from above, the carnage of the killing ground did nothing to deter the Death Eaters who crossed behind shields of magic and conjuration, a sight of awe inspiring savagery.

They had been killing each other for days, weeks… longer. It did not matter anymore. All that mattered now was that the goal was in sight and that the end game could begin. With a bestial roar, He leapt the railing smashing his knees in to the chest of a Death eater, driving him to the floor, he rolled as several curses obliterated the corpse and cracked the stone where he had landed only moments before.

Rising to his feet, he levelled two wands at his nemesis and cast, "Avada Kedevra!"


	26. Chapter 85 - Duel Redux

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

I've been playing with the Sci-Fi classic weapon a bit and then stole an idea from something else entirely that features swords. Points to whoever recognizes both – which is kind of a longshot…

Chapter 85

Duel Redux

Voldemort conjured a barrier of steel and stone and summoned the closest Death Eater to him, effectively blocking both curses before retaliating in kind with a forceful flick of his wand. Harry stood his ground, as a charge of black built on his right hand wand before he swished it harshly towards Voldemort. The black bolt separated in to four separate spheres of dark magic the fanned out and the encircled to strike from four separate direction at once. Voldemort took a step back, muttering under his breath as he tapped himself with his wand.

Both attacks struck their respective targets with near simultaneity, the Dark Lord disappear beneath four separate infernos of ebony and purple flames, as Harry's left hand wand summoned the ruins of an animated statue. The metal warped, twisted and then deformed completely and fell to the ground a smoking clump of metal as Voldemort stepped from the inferno, surrounded by a pale sapphire blue shield.

They jabbed their wands at each other as white and blue lightning erupted from both wand tips, streaking towards each other with a brilliant flash of light. The streams met in mid-air and exploded with a blinding flash and thunder clap that rocked back both combatants. The magically charged air crackled around them both as a flicker of surprise washed over Harry's face. Voldemort smile was more of a cruel leer, "Did you think that I would allow you to use Prior Incantatem against me again Potter?" Another jab and another bolt of red streaked lightning flashed towards Harry who neatly sidestepped.

The bolt cut through one of the ancient stone pillars, groaning but otherwise remaining upright as harry brandished both wands, sending long tendrils of flame whipping outwards towards Voldemort, who twisted his wand and held it up to meet the strike. Deflected by telekinetic force of untold power, Harry lashed out again, slashing the stone ground around the Dark Lord until there was only molten rock at the Dark Lord's feet.

Harry spun the whips outwards yet again but Voldemort countered with an oily black coil of magic the ensnared the whips and snaked back towards Harry. Breaking off the spell before the energy could reach his wand tips. Yanking back hard to pull the black coil towards him, Harry unleashed a jet of magic that vaporised the very air it passed through with a shriek as the sound barrier was horribly violated. The Dark Lord intercepted with his own black coil. The ensuing explosion was a violet ball with green and yellow sparks that marred the walls and floor as the Great Hall trembled beneath the assault.

Levitating stone shards with one hand, he transfigured with the other, easily side stepping and then leaping over two bolts of green death. A volley of simple, but crude stone daggers was banished with incredible force. A powerful gust of wind robbed them of momentum as Voldemort literally caught them in mid-flight and banished them back towards Harry.

Harry took a step back and in the blink of an eye, slammed both wands down in to the ground, raising a wall of earth and stone. The daggers penetrated his defence and he dodged them by only the narrowest of margins, feeling the stone break against his armour, as several sliced through his cloak on the turn as he regained his feet,

"Dumbledore can see Potter," hissed Voldemort, "Just how far you have fallen. Using not just dark magic, but those fuelled by hate and anger such as the Void Shadow. How far you have fallen, savoir of the light?"

"I have looked in to the abyss," replied Harry coolly, "It has looked in to me." His own dark smile washing over his face, "Dumbledore would be disappointed. He would believe there is some way to save you, to give you a second chance and to repent for all you have done."

"He was a fool," replied Voldemort as he sent a series of minor, nuisance hexes and curses towards Harry who batted them aside with equal ease.

"He was," agreed Harry. Voldemort blinked in surprise at the unexpected agreement, "Dumbledore believed that scum like Snape, filth like Draco, and even gue-la animals like Bellatrix deserved a second chance, to repent." He met the eyes of his opponent for the first time, "He was a well-intentioned, if blinkered, and manipulative fool. He was still human at least. I'm not sure what you are." He raised both wands, a ten and three quarter inch vinewood with dragon heartstring core wand in one hand, and Dumbledores' own elder wood with thestral hair core wand in the other. "If it's all the same to you, Tom, the warm up is done with. Let's get on with this."

"Indeed," sneered Voldemort with a bow. Harry merely inclined his head in the direction of his foe. A look of focused concentration overcame both their faces as they mirrored each other in different duelling stances. Combatants on both sides felt waves of pure power emanating from both wizards and everyone knew that this was the proverbial "it" moment.

Voldemort unleashed a spray of killing curses. With no way to side step the spell fire he ran towards them and jumped, his body spun horizontally as carved through the air. A bar of magic slid from the tip of his wand and he slashed towards Voldemort with the pure magical blade. The later dodged and lashed out with a powerful stinging hex that knocked the wand skyward. Harry took the blow in stride and spun as his offhand came round with another blade of deep sapphire blue with streaks of emerald green crackling along its length. Voldemort merely ducked, feeling the heat of blade against his skin before gliding back some fifteen feet.

"I thought we were skipping the warm up." Harry dropped in to a low sideways crouch, weight evenly spread as one wand was raised over head, the other held low to guard his sides. Voldermort replied with a shockwave of power that rippled towards Harry. He shielded from it, and sidestepped a killing curse before returning one in kind. Voldemort dodged, only to have the ground explode beneath him, and catapult him some twenty feet in to the air. Harry moved to capitalize but was knocked back by a gust of wind that blew him off his feet. He spun and lightly landed on his feet.

Seconds before he would have hit the ground, a blue glow enveloped the Dark Lord's form, and a small crater formed beneath his. Voldemort still stood but was breathing heavily. "Impressive Harry. Together we would have ruled not just Britain but also the World in due time." The Dark Lord took a moment to sneer at Harry who merely smiled back.

A wave of stone and earth launched itself towards Harry, who retaliated with Goblin magic, sending bolts of flame and ice towards Voldemort. The former shielded the onslaught as the later leapt over it, only to get caught with a binding hex in the legs. Slamming to the ruined ground, Harry rolled to avoid a trio of piercing hexes that gouged long furrows in to the ground. A wave of his offhand ended the hex as a banishing hex from his main hand struck Voldermort in the chest.

Flying back, the Dark Lord twisted aside to avoid a killing curse and retaliated with a wash of Fiendfyre. Taking the shape of a giant serpent it slithered towards Harry who retreated, waving his wands in an intricate pattern. The Serpent paused and then recoiled before breaking in to a half dozen wolves that turned and charged towards Voldemort. Voldemort scowled as unleashed a wave of freezing energy that froze the flames, leaving frozen statues in their wake.

Unleashing a quick six piercing charms, the statues shattered and a kinetic spell caught the still falling ice and banished a half tons of ice. With deft flicks of his wand, Voldemort dealt with the incoming barrage, deflecting some and melting others, but one cluster of smaller, fist sized projectiles made it past his defence and despite his effort to dodge, smashed in to the side of his face and neck. Voldemort let loose a hiss of angry pain as brackish blood gouted from a wound that ran down the left side of his forehead, down and across the bridge of his nose to end beneath his right eye. The wound would have incapacitated a few, but would have killed most. But the pale bone white flesh rippled and grew back together, leaving a vivid red, ugly scar across his face.

"First blood to me, Tom," said Harry with a cold and vicious smile.

Voldemort's eyes narrows and flicked from his blood hand to Harry's smirk. His eyes flared in hatred and rage as a bestial snarl escaped him. Waves of shadowy grey and black magic flickered around him as he raised his wand. Chaotic energy blasted across the gap between the combatants, obliterating a large of stone pillar that Harry had prudently taken cover behind. With that, the duel recommenced.

Bolts of green death snapped back and forth between the pair as they snap-apparated, teleported around each other in between conjuring and summoning barriers of stone or metal to deflect the curses the other had cast. Where Voldemort relied on brute power, Harry had been busy and put his stratagem in to effect. He rolled in to cover, sweeping both wands to the ground and then up, pointing them towards Voldemort. Every scrap of stone and chunk of metal smaller was swept off the floor towards the Dark Lord.

Casting a shield, the Dark Lord manoeuvred it to intercept the first storm. But as the projectiles intensified and began to pummel him like typhoon rains for several directions at once, he was forced to take cover within the powerful dome shield. He had been outmanoeuvred he realized, as a single grey bolt of magic struck his shield. It expanded outwards, wrapping around the front lower portion of his shield. Both hands upon his wand, the Dark Lord cancelled his shield, but only after the feedback loop of the Goblin Shieldbreaker had shattered the shield, and sent blue and white lightning coursing up in to the arms of the Dark Lord. As his desperate effort to contain the feedback loop failed, he thrust his left arm out towards Harry.

Explosive blue and white lightning leapt towards Harry. Caught off guard, the blast caught Harry full on and blasted him back ten feet, and sent him skidding along the broken floor, tearing a bloody path of his own through the wreckage of the Great Hall of Hogwarts castle. It was not without its price however as the offending limb exploded followed moments later by everything below the elbow vaporising to throw him nearly the length of the Great Hall.

Between the two battered combatants, Harry was the first back to his feet, a quick series of numbing and healing charms mending his shattered ribs. It still hurt to breathe but giving Voldemort any time was not a good idea, "You're looking a little tired," Harry mocked loud and clear, biting down on his lip to prevent any sound of pain from escaping him, "Would you like to take a five minute break Tom?"

Voldermort stared at the stump of his left arm for a long moment. A wave of his wand coiled a metal band of brass from a ruined statue tight. A moment later and the Dark Lord gave a high pitched hiss of pain as flames cauterized the stump. Levering himself back to his feet, he stared across the ruins of the Great Hall, and felt a moment of gratification at the bedraggled state of his arch nemesis, " I presume this is where we begin hurling insults at one another like petulant school children upon the shores of the Black Lake?"

"Whatever suits you best, oh high and mighty supposed Dark Lord of Britian," replied Harry as he subvocalized his next series of curses and hexes in preparation.

"These pathetic stalling attempts do little but demean and degrade us both!" hissed Voldemort menacingly as he sent another sickly-green bolt towards Harry, who side stepped with ease.

"Perhaps," conceded Harry, "But then again Tom, let's not pretend that you don't know how this ends: With your death. There is a prophecy that says so after all."

Voldemort stood still for a long moment. Silence descended before Voldemort laughed, a high pitched, hissing cackle, "No. Potter, I have heard the prophecy in full. I know how it will end. "Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives." Today, I will end your life Potter! And I will live forever!"

Harry blinked in surprise, "What the hell do you mean? Live forever?" Now, was the moment, "Horcruxes will not let you live forever."

"Horcru…." Voldemort felt silent and studied Harry for another moment, "What could you possibly know of Horcruxes?"

"A diary, from your days in Hogwarts," replied Harry evenly, as both wands rose and he began to cast simultaneous yet different spell chains. He had practiced this extensively with the wands of his closest friends, but never had the second wand - the borrowed wand served him so well. "The Cup of Hufflepuff." Bolts of flame and ice leapt from his wands in an alternating pattern towards his foe.

"The Locket of Slytherin." He continued the list as he banished stone with one wand while volley firing piercing, banishing and blasting hexes with the other.

Voldemort held his ground deflecting and shielding with ease, "The Diadem of Ravenclaw in the Room of Requirement." A firehose charm blanketed the floor in water as Harry lightly leapt on to a chunk of stone that rose up from amongst the wreckage like a clawing hand. A bolt of elemental lightning electrified the floor beneath them both.

Voldemort responded by taking to the air above the crackling floor. Harry retaliated with a barrage of fireworks before waves of piercing and cutting curses carved up the air. Two slipped past the defences of the Dark Lord, slashing in to his left thigh and calf. "Marvolo Gaunt's ring –Dumbledore destroyed that incidentally."

Voldemort swooped in low, magic blazing from the tip of his wand. Harry abandoned his own spell casting, conjuring the magical blades once again. In the face of Dark Lord's aircraft like attack run, Harry stood his ground, using his blades to block and deflect the incoming curses, shielding the few he could not deflect, and sidestepping the occasional unforgivable that he could not conjure or summon a barrier to deflect. "I figured I would kill you, and then kill your damn pet snake." concluded Harry evenly as he levelled both wand tips at Voldemort, launch both blades like rockets before diving forward and out of the way, "But the Legion saved me the trouble!"

Voldemort executed a mid-air turn, and sprayed a bedazzling array of hexes and curses as Harry dodged, rolled and sidestepped around the hovering Dark Lord who cackled with near insane glee. "My Horcruxes are irrelevant Potter!" spat Voldemort, "Hold still and I shall end this duel and let you live only long enough to bear witness to the commencement of my ascension."

"Ascension to what?" retorted Harry as he brought his wands up in an "X" in front of him before slashing down. Twin cutting curses lanced outwards, seemingly defying the laws of physics as they curved around to strike from two different directions.

The Dark Lord dropped to ground level, and gave Harry a stare that bordered on the incredulous, "You don't know?" He laughed, "The great Harry Potter does not know the meaning of the very prophecy that has ensorcelled his life!" Two bludgeoning hexes followed by an entrails' expelling curse, were the lead in, and quickly followed by the malicious cutting charms of Severus Snape.

Harry dodged the first three curses and deflected both Sectumsempra curses out the glasses windows of the Great Hall. "Know what?" spat Harry, "The Prophecy was fulfilled in 1981! I vanquished you as an infant using the power he knows not! I could not have known of my magical powers as an infant!" Harry snap casted a trio of nuisance, schoolyard hexes back to keep Voldemort occupied as he struggled to come up with a strategy that did not play to the magical strengths of the Dark Lord which at this point seemed to be the Dark Arts and Charms meaning that it was time to "pull a McGonagall."

He rolled in to cover, and focused his magic. Transfiguration was all about intent and willpower, than power. He was not looking for perfection in appearance, but perfect function in this case. With a flourish of his wand, Harry's new army began to take shape and within moments, he sent his transfigured stone minions in to battle.

The move seemed to surprise Voldemort who allowed the transfigured mix of eagles, wolves and bears to cross half the distance that separated the two before countering with a transfigured army of his own, using man sized serpents against the magical menagerie sent against him.

Both wizards were in the open, as their minions battled for supremacy, alternating between tearing, gouging and clawing at each other. "Potter, Potter, Potter," Voldemort's tone was one of supreme mockery, "How can you not understand? Let me illuminate you to the truth of the prophecy: "Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives." It means that the one who kills the other will sacrifice their own Death!" Harry faltered for a moment, stunned by the darkness of Voldemort's revelation, of what it meant for him, for his entire life. "Do you understand Potter?! It means that your death is the price for my immortality!"

The last word was punctuated by a quartet of killing curses launched in a spectacular arc. Still stunned, Harry very nearly failed to defend himself. Only the scream of Fleur, watching the duel from the top of the grand staircase snapped him back in to motion. The forward handspring turned in to a somersault towards his still airborne enemy, going above the deadly spread of death filled magic. He crashed in to the airborne Voldemort and the force of the collision drove both of them to the ground where Harry grabbed twin handfuls of Voldemort's black robes. "You! Lie!" he screamed, driving his fist in to the face of the Dark Lord, "Death! Is! Death!" Each word was punctuated by a hammer blow of a fist driven in to the face and chest of Voldemort, "Death does not grant life! That is not the way! It does not grant life! Death closes the circle!"

A blast of magic blew him backwards, sending him skidding across the ruins of the Great Hall. He dug in his heels, arresting his backward slide as he dropped to the ground like a sprinter at the starting block. They locked eyes across the expanse and with a sudden ferocity the mind war began.

Harry's body was tired, his mind ached but his anger fuelled him, his desperation at wanting Voldemort's words to be lie empowered his Legilimency as he struck with multiple, varied probes, all of them seeking only the answer to one question: Was it possible that what the Dark Lord spoke was true. Voldemort laughed a loud, cruel sound and simply let Harry have the answer he sought: Yes. The Dark Lord Voldemort believed that Harry's death would grant him immortality, making the Horcruxes nothing more than useless relics once he wins. "You see Harry? There are things worse than death. Especially for you! Death is the only way you can ever see your family! See your parents! Your Mother! Your Father! Your mangy God Father! See your mudblood again!"

With a roar of anguish, Harry pulled back, severing the connection between their minds as the Dark Lord stood and laughed in his face, "My servants will merely resurrect me! So kill me! If you can!"

The two had duelled and fought their way back and forth across the Great Hall of Hogwarts for what felt like hours. But in reality it had only been a number of minutes. But those were minutes within which the entire scope and shape of the war shifted as a Fire Sprite appeared in a blazing ball of reddish gold flame, that had crackles of white lightning running across its service. The Fire Sprites, "minor demons" if such a thing existed, long servants of the Goblin Nation, delivered a simple message to Harry. It was a collection of freshly severed heads, taken from the Ministry of Magic in London. Specifically: the Heads of department of Voldemort's "government."

The demon vanished as quickly as it appeared most likely sensing through its demonic powers that the ruined Great Hall of Hogwarts was not going to be a good place to be in a few short moments. There were long moments of heavy, pregnant silence before Harry dived for cover as Voldemort erupted in a smoking rage, hurling the Killing curse in rapid succession across the Hall in Harry's direction. "What?" Harry chuckled from relative safety, "Did you think the Clans of the Goblin Nation would abandon The Legion?"

The moment Voldemort had marched his forces against Hogwarts, The Goblins had watched and waited, spending ceaseless hours scouting, searching and trailing the Death Eaters. The Goblins had learned the routes taken by the servants of Darkness to and from their supply caches. Learned and studied the construction of their armouries and production centres. They had pinpointed the exact location of every Death Eater infirmary, potion brewery and apothecary. The Goblins had spent the duration of the Hogwarts Siege planning their own counter strike. And they had succeeded beyond their wildest dreams.

The Goblin's had marched to war in a fashion not seen since the Middle Ages, and had unleashed centuries of pent of rage and bloodlust in a twelve hour orgy of wanton debauchery, that left nothing but the last of the hardcore Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort himself in the grounds of Hogwarts and the Great Hall. Indeed, the Sword Wind Blades had led the lightning assaults that had spilled out of Legion safe houses the length and breadth of Britain to strike down the Death Eaters. The Axe Masters, led by Griphook had begun their own assault, first by coming out of the Forbidden Forest to encircle, and then break the Siege of Hogwarts.

The Goblin's had been kind enough to leave just enough Death Eaters alive to testify that they had been destroyed before adding them to the steadily growing piles of corpses. As the dozens of patronus messengers began to descend in to the Great Hall to deliver the devastating news of total defeat to the Dark Lord. Harry cracked a smile as the screaming and cries of denial echoed towards him. Harry started to laugh, almost silently to himself as he heard the message, recorded weeks ago was broadcast throughout the Castle.

The message itself was short and brief. It simply stated that the Death Eaters had been destroyed. Every bearer of the Dark Mark eradicated. Every building and home that bore their taint turned to rubble and cleansed with fire. It stated that the final battle was to be fought at Hogwarts itself, and called upon the wizarding population of Britain to rise up against their oppressors and take back their nation, "Courage! Duty! Honor!" Harry's voice was carried from one end of the country to the other, "The Legion has bled and many have died for this nation! Citizens of Magical Britain: Rise and reclaim your homeland! Rise and reclaim your birth right! The Legion stands forever against the Darkness! Now is the time! Stand with us! Earn you place! And stand forever against the Darkness!"

The Legion gathered on the overhead balconies, many of them with wands raised and aimed as they gathered their full strength. Hundreds of wands were aimed at the gathered Death Eaters below who numbered only a paltry hundred. They had all heard, they all knew that there would be no prisoners taken, no mercy granted, and no quarter given. To their rear, the Goblins had arrived, marching in a heavy lockstep, shields glowing with magic energy, and a forest of spears and blades poised to cut off their retreat.

Harry stepped out from behind cover, "Those that surrender will find death quick and painless. Those that resist," Harry's cold sneering smile would have made Snape proud, "will find death violent, bloody and painful in the extreme."

"Hades takes your soul Potter!" snarled one of the Death Eaters, "Avada Kedevra!"

Harry ducked and retaliated with twin whips of flame that neatly severed the offenders' wand hand at the wrist. Moments later, the second whip coiled itself around its neck and the head of the offending Death Eater bounced once before rolling across the floor.

The remaining Death Eaters formed a series of rings around their master, overlapping shields and barriers as curses and hexes rained down upon them from every direction imaginable. Harry merely stood back and let the massed spell fire cut down the Death Eaters until only a handful remained.

Harry held up a clenched fist and the hail of spells ceased almost immediately, leaving Voldemort standing with a half dozen badly wounded Death Eaters. "Voldemort, surrender or die," said Harry.

The silence stretched between both sides until the Dark Lord took a solitary step forward, "If I chose the latter, would you finish me yourself? Or have your lackey's end me? Harry Potter? Or would you face me to the death of one of us?"

Harry grinned, and cast a sonorous charm, "I call a blood feud to the death against the House of Riddle. I challenge the half-blood bastard Tom Marvolo Riddle as the last of his line to a duel to the Death. As the challenger: I enforce my right to choose the time and place: The Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Now!"

Voldemort's smile was Cheshire cat like, as he nodded, "I did not think that you would follow the old forms."

"I can respect a culture I was not brought up in, without trampling it," replied Harry coolly.

Voldemort raised his wand to his throat, "I Tom Marvolo Riddle, the challenged, answer the challenge laid down by Harry James Potter of the House of Potter: I accept. I enforce my right to choose the weapon: Wands."

Both leaders of their respective factions moved out in to the open, eyes locked without blinking as they adopted their preferred duelling stances. Voldemort has his wand outstretched whereas Harry held his mismatched wands, low at his side and high overhead, as he spread his weight evenly and watched his opponent.

Both exploded in to movement at the same moment, Voldemort unleashing a spray of deadly cutting, bone crushing, entrails expelling and skinning hexes. Harry raised both his wands in to an "X" in front of him and charged forward, closing the gap, drawing upon every ounce of strength and magic at his disposal to power the shield in front of him as he closed the distance, until less than ten feet separated them.

A momentary break in Voldemort's offensive casting was all Harry needed as he subvocalized the incantation and with a snarl of rage, drew back both wands as blades of pure magic extended outwards from the tips of both wands.

"Wands Voldemort?" snarled Harry, as he slashed horizontally from left to right with his right hand. The blade of magic smashed against a hasty shield, a nimbus of blue energy flaring outward with a loud gong like sound.

Harry's left blade made an uppercut slash that also ricocheted off the shield as well. Undeterred Harry leapt, executing a full circle clockwise spin, bringing both blades across in a powerful left to right horizontal slash, cracking the shield beneath the furious assault, "You should have said," his feet touched the floor for only a moment, before he exploded forward to continue his assault.

He deflected a series of rapidly cast curses he could not identify, ducking below another killing curse before taking to the air with a magic assisted leap that brought him six feet in to the air. He descended in another full circle spin, but counter-clockwise, his momentum causing a barrage of spells to miss wide as he slashed from right to left, this team breaking the shield, and removing the last barrier between Harry and Voldemort, "Wands only, no contact!"

A crescent spin and Harry brought both blades up and then in a vicious down and upward X-slash with both blades that slashed the robes of the Dark Lord, drawing blood as Voldemort sacrificed the rest of left arm to avoid certain death at the hands of the whirling, bladed juggernaut before him.

Harry was a blur of rage, anger, and adrenalin. From the moment he had raised both wands to form his shield, he had tapped in to the same primal anger that he had only reached and found once before in desperation, when he had faced Voldemort two years ago, in Little Haggleton, in the graveyard… where his Hermione had died. He used it now, sending his blades in opposite-directional slashes, left blade going down and to the left as the right slashed up and right.

Voldemort blasted Harry back with a kinetic spell of some kind, buying himself several precious seconds. A volley of piercing hexes followed up and Harry deflected them with near ridiculous ease, except for the one that punched through the meat of his calf as the last grazed the flesh of his left arm. Voldemort smiled, as he broke Harry's momentum and raised his wand, "Avada Kedevra!"

Harry scissor-stepped, dropping low to the ground like a cat about to pounce as the curse sailed overhead. He reversed his grip on both blades before exploding off the rubble strewn floor. The first blade missed as Voldemort leaned back, but off balance, there was nothing the Dark Lord could do as the second stabbed through the meat of his thigh before it was torn clear in a gout of blood.

Voldemort snarled in pain as he stumbled, and suddenly realized that he was wide open. In that moment, everyone who saw it, would be hard pressed to describe exactly what they saw as they saw a flurry of blows that included a "corkscrew" or "whirlwind" like attack followed by a downward double bladed X-slash. An upward X-slash flowed in to a leap and mid-air spin that terminated with a horizontal right to left slash. Not wasting the momentum, the right blade cut a downward vertical slash.

Voldemort screamed in agony as his already wounded remaining arm took debilitating injury as first the hand was cut off neatly at the wrist, moments before the arm was chopped off just below the elbow and then again at the shoulder. Blood gouted for only a moment as the passage of the magic blade seared the wound shut.

The smell of burnt blood and crisped flesh filled the air as Harry pressed his brutal assault, executing a left uppercut slash in conjunction with a right downward vertical slash. One strike drew a shallow cut across the ribs of the Dark Lord who was clearly being cut to pieces. The follow up attacks were driven by brute strength as Harry pivoted low, adding momentum to his strike as the twinned blades cut through the right leg of Lord Voldemort at mid-calf and mid-thigh.

"The power he knows not?" Harry roared as he regained his footing, "Swordplay!" He took a step back and thrust forward with both blades. Gravity and momentum were all that spared Voldemort from being speared through the head and heart, one blade slicing in to his left lung, the right cutting through where his liver and stomach would be.

"The one with the power," stage whispered Harry, "to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches," Voldemort felt pain, was feeling pain, the likes of which he had only felt once before in 1981, when he was dispossessed of his body by an infant. He was Voldemort! Lord Voldemort! The Prophecy was his key to immortality! Potter would not pay such a price. No mere human would pay such a price. Only one such as he, who had travelled widely and studied the Dark Arts would dare!

"Born to those who have thrice defined him," Voldemorts' wand flashed as dark magic and power was channelled through his wand as he speedily rebuilt his ruined leg. It would serve its purpose as he rose to his feet, as Harry Potter stalked him. A trio of Killing Curses were cast only to be blocked by summoned stone and metal barriers, "Born as the seventh month dies!" snarled Harry

"And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal," Conjured silver daggers were banished towards Harry, who sniggered and waved his let wand. The Daggers seemed to rot and then disintegrate in mid-air. With a grunt of effort, Voldemort banished enough stone to recreate the Fountain of Magical Brethren. With his blades, Harry slashed his way through stone like a hot knife through butter, "But he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not."

"Equal?" hissed Voldemort as he staggered back another step, "You have never been my equal Potter! Albus Dumbledore could never match my knowledge! Merlin himself was not equal to my power! You will never, ever be as strong as me! I will forever be far greater than you will ever be!" The Dark Lord's nostrils were flaring as he ignored the revolting smell of his own blood.

"And either must die at the hand of the other," Harry stalked forward his normally emerald eyes were matte black tunnels of darkness. Voldemort stared in to the face of the one he had marked his equal, his eyes travelling to the lightning bolt shaped scar upon the forehead of Harry Potter, "For neither can live," he swiped his wand and a corporeal shield of silver and green warped in to existence, hovering scant inches in front of him, and began to thicken, "while the other survives."

Harry brought his wands to bear, the magical blade in his left hand carving through the still forming shield. Bringing the wand of Hermione Granger to bear, the wand he had claimed as his own two years ago, he pressed the tip of it against the pasty white skin of the Dark Lord's chest, directly where a human would have his heart, "Crucio Maximus!" snarled Harry.

Fear, then agony raced through Voldemort's body and mind as he gave a high pitched, near ear splitting scream of pain. Dark blood spurted from between his lipless mouth, and drooled down his chin. His hand shook convulsively and his thirteen and a half inch yew wand with phoenix tail feather core slipped from between bloody fingers, rolling across the broken ground.

His crimson eyes widened with shock as he slumped to his knees before the boy who lived. For a split second, Tom Marvolo Riddle lay battered and broken, reduced to trembling, partly in fear, partly in the agonizing after effects of the Cruciatus Curse and Harry James Potter stared at the pitiful wretch before him. Struggling, Lord Voldemort found his voice, "Live alone forever Potter?" he choked around a mouthful of blood, "You have defeated me here, but the price of victory is not one you will pay! No mere mortal would pay it!"

Images flashed before Harry's eyes at the words of the Dark Lord. He saw them all: Xenophilius Lovegood. Ginny. Neville tortured by grief. Luna now left without her Colin. He saw the garden of Godric's Hollow where his parents had made their sacrifice. His daughter: Aimee Delacour Potter who had never lived laid to rest alongside his parents. He thought of all those who had suffered under the wand of the… thing before him. All those broken by torture, all who died as heroes, and as martyrs. Those that simply vanished. Twenty years. The corruption. The ineptitude of their "government." A populace of sheep. Two different wars.

So much blood and pain and death and violence caused by the creature at his feet. Harry mustered the last of his hatred as he stared down, his now once again emerald eyes meeting the ruby eyes of his nemesis, "I pay it gladly."

Voldemort's eyes widened a fraction, "Avada Kedevra!"

A titanic flash of green light that was somehow as dark as it was bright burst from the tip of the wand of Harry James Potter. It radiated decay as it delivered death and struck Lord Voldemort, Darkest of the Dark Lords and would be ruler of Magical Britain.


	27. Chapter 86 - Aftermath and Ever After

A/N

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to XxHecatexX for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta. She's also been there to correct mistakes, point out loopholes and generally kick my ass in to writing as required.

Chapter 86

Aftermath and Ever After

The carnage of war brought with it a crucible that forced the Wizarding World to change, and rise anew from the ashes of war. The young man at the centre of it all, Harry Potter would continue to be the catalyst he had never wanted to be. He saw to the needs of his Legion first, and to the complete lack of surprise to all those who knew him even slightly, the Goblins.

The Goblin purge of the Death Eaters had been total. True to their word, the left literally nothing standing: The Ministry of Magic had been razed to the ground. Diagon Alley remained standing, but many who had converted to the ideals of the pureblood supremacist "government" had been put to the sword. The estates and homes of the most prominent of Purebloods including Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson had been put to the torch.

Many would question why the Goblins had acted in such fashion, with a display of such unilateral loyalty to Harry Potter. The answer was simple: Financial incentive. Griphook had once calculated the full value of the Potter Family Fortune to be in the billions. With all that money sitting around, twenty million Galleons was a small price to pay to hire the best warriors money could buy. A bounty of five thousand Galleons per Death Eater corpse with Dark Mark convinced the greedy to line up alongside the skilled.

In the days, following their victory, the first matter was to lay the fallen to rest. And there were so many of them. For the fallen Goblins, they were buried with all the honour and ceremony that they were due as warriors. Their funerary rites and customs are still a mystery to wizarding kind, and the Goblins kept it that way.

For those witches and wizards that had endured the siege and defended Hogwarts, they were all laid to rest in a public funeral. The service was well attended, but no doubt the greatest attraction at the macabre event was Dumbledore himself, helped along by a short piece from Luna and The Quibbler:

_Albus Dumbledore: A Legend has Ended_

"_The Quibbler regrets to announce that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was killed in Hogwarts School of Witchraft and Wizardry, defending the students, his colleagues and the venerable institution from Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters._

"_It is a loss. Albus Dumbledore was a man deserving of respect and he gave his all in the defence of Hogwarts – his home," said Harry Potter, now dubbed "the Man-Who-Survived,", "He was a symbol of courage, and, of honour."_

_Acting Headmistress Minvera McGonagall was asked what the future holds for Hogwarts, "We have endured the fires of war. These hallowed halls of learning will be open come September 1st for all those who wish to receive and continue to receive their magical education." She said firmly._

_The staff of the Quibbler pay their respects to Albus Dumbledore, may he rest in peace._

_For the life of achievements of Albus Dumbledore, see pages 2-9._

_For details regarding the Siege of Hogwarts, see pages 10-13._

It was a brisk and sunny winter morning, and Harry stared out over the lake on the morning of the public funeral. There were still hundreds gathered at the reception behind him, paying their last respects. Harry had decided that it would be best if Albus Dumbledore was buried in Hogwarts. His tomb would mark the site of a memorial for those who had given their lives in service to the Light. Harry felt her hand take his and he gave a soft, almost gentle smile as Fleur stood beside him. He did not know what he would do without her, or what to do with her for that matter.

He nodded and they made their way towards the seats. He recognized the few survivors of the Order of the Phoenix, including Kingsley Shacklebolt, Diggle, and Amos Diggory. The Weasely clan was in full attendance. He felt his heart break at the absence of Fred, George and Ginny. A part of him was glad that Bill and Charlie were there. Percy had turned up after the war itself was over, with fragmented memories of the past few years of his life. What was missing both wizard and Goblin mind healers agreed were forever lost. At least, the sons still had family.

He smiled sadly at the line of government officials: Susan Bones, acting Minister for Magic was literally rebuilding the entire government from the ground up. Many had said she was too young, too inexperienced and too many other things besides. But Kingsley Shacklebolt had thrown his support behind her, silencing the most vocal of the opposition. Given that most had been purged by the Goblins, Susan had wisely chosen to surround herself with a mix of bloods and races. It was going to be interesting having a werewolf as Deputy Minister of Magic, but Harry felt Moony was up to the task, and with Griphook as Director of Financial Services, graft and bribery would be difficult if not outright impossible.

They took their places and walked to the podium where a large portrait of Albus Dumbledore stood framed next to a pure white marble coffin draped with the banner of Hogwarts. Fawkes was perched on the lip of the coffin, not yet at maturity since his recent sacrifice.

Death was one way where the Magical and Muggle worlds were not so different. The major difference was that many were laid to rest in family tombs or crypts in private homes. Many of the fallen would be taken to such places to be interred after the day's memorials were done. But the headstones, the plaques would remain behind in a sanctuary for the memory of the fallen.

Headmistress Minvera McGonagall stepped up to the rostrum and silence fell, "We are gathered here today, to remember and honour a remarkable man" she began, "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. He was as kind as he was powerful. He gave his life defending his students and his home. He will be remembered as a Professor, a Headmaster, and as being the only one Voldemort ever feared." She smiled towards Harry, seated in the front row and stepped back.

Harry gave McGonagall a sad smile as they passed one another and he took his place, ""Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak." The first words I ever heard him say." There were a few scattered chuckles. "Albus Dumbledore was a man of many talents and as many quirks. He saw death as the next great adventure. He is enjoying that adventure now."

There was a clattering of hooves and a loud murmur as the Centaur herd stopped at the forest edge, they bowed respectfully from a distance and then turned and vanished back in to the depths of the Forbidden Forest. "Give it some time," Harry thought, "I'm being forced to change the world. So I will make it a better place."

The services and memorial would go on for some time, as following Dumbledore, others were eulogized, and memories shared. Amongst the many, there were a few surprises such as Argus Filch. A retired marksman who with ties to the 2nd Battalion of the Parachute Regiment under the 16th Air Assault Brigade, he had killed at least a dozen Death Eaters with his L96A Accuracy International before the dragon's fire engulfed the balcony that had served as his sniper's camp. Pictures amongst his effects connected him to a muggle, Frank Bryce who had been his spotter during the Falkland Islands Campaign in 1982.

During the remembrance of Colin Creevy's, Harry had declined to speak, opting to give those who knew him better the chance. As many lay flowers by the young man's coffin, Harry brought a framed photo instead. Where many had acknowledge Colin's strength and courage, Harry saw only the excitable child who had taken pictures of him, first without permission, then as his official photographer, and then as a friend who had continued to take pictures of his friends. The photo left at a corner of Colin's coffin, was taken sometime before the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, showing all of them standing in the courtyard of the castle. Harry's scrawling spidery scrawl had written a short note, "Take pictures in the forever after, and show them to me, when we catch up." The signature that graced the photograph would be the only autograph that Harry Potter ever gave.

Time would pass but a few did ask, many years later, why Harry was so lenient, and forgiving of Dumbledore. Harry had shrugged, "The man is dead and what I think or wish, is not going to change that fact." After a few drinks however, he could be convinced to add the cavet, "I just hope he stays dead and does not come back!"

For the Legions own fallen however, there was no public spectacle. Only the families of the fallen, and there were only two representatives of the Ministry of Magic: The Minister and her deputy, both of whom had fought alongside the Legion. Quietly, conversations had taken place between a senior Legionnaire and each of the families of the fallen regarding the situation. None chose to confront Harry on that day. The service was a long five hour affair that honoured the memories of the 117 Legionnaires slain in battle. Reminisces took most of this time, as every student was mentioned, and remembered. Harry had sat there and struggled not to breakdown and wondered whether he should say something or not. How could he speak about one student over the others? Would their families take offense to that?

In the end, he rose to his feet, unwilling to insult the memories of his Legionnaires by not saying anything about their sacrifice: One-hundred-and-seventeen lives were lost during the siege because they had followed his orders and battle strategy. He stood, and recited their names from memory, making eye contact with everyone gathered in Godric's Hollow, "An entire generation has sacrificed everything so that those who follow will be free. Their names and their deeds forever engraved upon my memory, and no Pensieve will let me forget them. The Fallen have given us the chance to reshape our World, and the future that children will inherit. We owe it, to make our world a better place. For their sacrifice, I can only thank them. The Fallen shall forever be remembered as our finest."

Fleur, acting as the Mistress of Ceremonies for the memorial ceremony being held in Godric's Hollow rose one last time. "Having met with the approval of the Board of Governors of Hogwarts, a memorial will be erected at the school, to honour all who have fought, both those who have given their lives, and those who lived."

Minister Susan Bones stood and looked the part as she turned to address them, "This may seem somewhat ridiculous, handing out awards when such tragedy has occurred. But we have honoured our Fallen, and we must in turn, honour our living as well." She unfurled a parchment scroll and began to read.

"On behalf of the Wizengamot, the 117 Legionnaires, and ninety other staff, students, witches and wizards who gave their lives during The Grimmauld Battle and The Siege of Hogwarts are awarded The Order of Merlin, Third Class, posthumously. We further award the Order of Merlin, Second Class to all Legionnaires, students, faculty members and others who fought and risked their lives for the Light."

"With special citation, we award the Order of Merlin, Second Class, to the Goblins of the Axe Masters Clan and Swordwind Blades Clan. Though not officially involved, they came to our assistance at a time of great need, and for this we thank them. We hope that this will be a harbinger of better relations between both our races as we move in to the future together."

"Finally, every army has its leaders, and commanders, where the burden of command and the responsibility of leadership rest its head. We award the Order of Merlin, First Class, to The Legion Core, comprised of Harry James Potter, Hermione Granger, Fleur Delacour, Luna Lovegood, George Weasely, Fred Weasely, Ginnerva Molly Weasely, Luna Lovegood, Colin Creevey, and Neville Longbottom. We salute them, and fervently hope that their services in this regard are never needed again." There was no applause but general agreement from the crowd as the ceremony itself drew to a close.

In the months following the battle, Hogwarts Castle was rebuilt. Headmistress McGonagall had turned the rebuilding in to a full scale academic exercise in the practical application of magic, where everyone from first years to alumnus of the venerated institution returned to lend a helping hand and a wand.

The memorial was built exactly where Fleur said it would be: Hogwarts, at the Entrance Hall. It would be the first thing anyone would ever see when they enter the castle. It was elegant and simple. 187 names were engraved in a simple gold rectangle of eight by four inches with the individuals' date of birth and date of death which lined the right hand side of the wall. The same setup lined the left side of the wall, only these were done in silver for the survivors and bore only a sinlge date. Given time, Harry knew that many of those silver tiles would become gold as the final date was added. Each of the tiles was goblin made, and enchanted, to burn from within with Gulbrathian Fire.

When it was completed, Harry had spent several long hours lost in pensive thought staring at the gold and silver walls in turn. "Worrying is like a rocking chair," she remarked, holding a cup out to him, "No milk, no sugar, ice cold."

He nodded and took the proffered cup, "How so?"

"It is displacement activity. It gives you something to do, but it really does not get you anywhere. You wonder whether The Legion, your Legion has made a difference."

Harry gave a bitter bark of laughter. The question had crossed his mind and kept him awake for many nights, "So did we make a difference? And now that we rebuild, are we making things better?"

"Since that day, since before it, we have made a difference, and now, we are making more. We start here, we educate, we teach, we tend to the needs of the children, who are the future. We make the difference now. They will make the difference in the future."

"You know, Harry," she said. "They're wrong. The writers, I mean. The first time you kill, the first time you use an Unforgivable. That's when it happens, when you become what you are fighting. It's not a gradual thing. They pretend that it is, so that they can tell themselves afterwards that they did not know. You remember your first Fleur?" he asked.

She nodded, "Despite the many Death Eaters and Effingus, I do: Goyle."

"The books say you are supposed to remember," He said, "The writers at least, the same ones that pretend it's a gradual descent down a slippery slope to becoming the same sort of monster you fight against." He glanced at her, "I, don't remember mine. I only remember it was in a fit of rage, that night in the… graveyard."

Fleur Delacour watched as his faced crumbled. She knew him too well. She knew that it had been too long for him, since he left himself feel anything. She pulled him in to her embrace, wrapping herself around him. For the first time, in more years that he could remember, he wept. He wept for his savaged childhood. For the parents he had never known, for the daughter he had lost, the brothers and sisters of his "Honour Guard." He cried for the lost generation that surrounded him.

Fleur Delacour simply held him, tucking his face in to the side of her neck; she whispered to him, trying and failing to comfort and reassure him that all would be well. "J'taime mon amour," she repeated softly, "I love you. We have all done horrific things, Harry. But you are still a good person. We are all here for you Harry, you know that right?" When he nodded, she added quietly, "I could never love you if you were evil. Nor could your friends care for you if you were evil. You are a good man Harry. War… it brings out the dark side that is the beast in us all. It does not make us evil. You are a good man, Harry James Potter. I know of none better."

The greatest school of witchcraft and wizardry survived the titanic struggle, and it would, under Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, go through sweeping change, sponsored by a private foundation that chose to remain anonymous. The changes included the restructuring and updating of the curriculum of all subjects and new faculty. Specialists were recruited from around the world for the five core subjects, and certain subjects were abolished in their entirety – Divination being one of the first to go. For the first time, a full administrative support staff to handle the maintenance and upkeep of the Castle. How Filch and Hagrid had managed would remain a mystery to many forever.

The 1st of September 1997 saw the Magical children of the British Wizarding world, pass through the barrier on to Platform 9¾, and board the Hogwarts Express on its traditional journey north. The newcomers were treated to the sight of the Castle against backdrop of the star filled sky as they crossed the lake with four students to a boat.

Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Kimberly Ann Staub directed the students to the tables with an ease born of long practice despite being one of the new hires, poached from Beauxbattons on the recommendations of Fleur.

There was sombre silence from all the students who passed through the gold and silver lined walls of the "Memorial." Like all nicknames, it was apt, and it stuck. They took their seats at round tables, each one comfortably seating about twelve students. Though the senior students were somewhat grouped along house lines, there was a near non-stop buzzing amongst them, asking two questions: Where were the house tables? Where were the hourglasses that denoted house points? Then somebody asked a more pointed question: Where was the Sorting Hat?

"To those who are returning, welcome back to Hogwarts," said Headmistress McGonagall, "To those who are new, welcome, and pay attention for there are many changes to the Hogwarts you have heard off from both family and friend." Her iron glare raked across the gathered students, "You may have already heard the term "Muggleborn." This is the correct term to refer to someone who is a first generation witch or wizard, as well as the correct term to refer to someone of mixed blood parentage. It is an accurate description, in so much as calling Mr. Priel, your Potions Master a man, or your Charms Professor, Ms. Delacour a Frenchwoman. There is an insult that has been used to describe the muggleborn. It is one word. It is "MudBlood.""

The already deafening silence seemed to deepen as she continued, "This single insult, I pray, will never be uttered by a student of this institution. Its use, as a first offense is a week of detention. As a final warning: Suspension for one academic semester and then expulsion. Do not use this word as long as you wish to study here. In line with this, any student preaching the pureblood supremacist ideology which has cost this country a generation of its witches and wizards will be suspended for a semester. Repeat offenders will be expelled. Are there any questions?"

Scattered nodding answered her. What followed triggered an uproar from the students, "The Houses of Hogwarts were supposed to create a familial bond between students," explained the Headmistress, "The system failed: It lead to the creation and then perpetuated the stereotypes. All students are created equal regardless of gender or blood status. There is only one house in this school: Hogwarts House." There will always be those that seek to test and break the rules: Thirteen students from the former four houses were suspended in the first week. Seven were forced to complete their magical education abroad.

Harry himself never set foot in Hogwarts again after that fateful day in the Entrance Hallway. But he completed his studies, taking his NEWTS that same year. Unsurprisingly, he scored a complement of 9 NEWTS with "O." Someone asked him what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Harry had simply shrugged. Suddenly, Susan Bones stepped down, followed quickly by Remus Lupin. Harry was suddenly the Minister of Magic. He quickly appointed Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom as his Deputy Vice Ministers. Remus had opted for the quiet life, and resigned shortly thereafter. Wolves mate for life, and he never let go of his love for Nymphadora Tonks.

One of his first actions as Minister was to ask for support that was willingly given by an international Quidditch superstar. Together, Fleur Delacour, Viktor Krum and Harry Potter moved Amos Diggory to tears as the Triwizard Cup was presented to him as a reminder of his sons' bravery, loyalty and perseverance, to honour the Champion of Hogwarts.

Minister Potter was quick to grant Goblins the right to bear wands, and House Elves rights as individuals and not property. He made discrimination a crime punishable by incarceration. With his people occupying positions of power, he kept his people in line, who in turn kept their respective departments in line. Thus Legion steered Wizarding Britain in to the future.

Harry had carte blanche to do as he saw fit, and he did just that: The government was reformed along the lines of the British Parliamentary system. The Wizengamot became a ruling council that functioned in many ways like the Muggle House of Commons, and many other organizations came forth, many of whom were granted equal standing with their own elected representatives.

Among them, the Goblins maintained their role as bankers and the financial authority of the Wizarding World. Indeed, Griphook would be the first Minister of Banking and Finance under the new democratic government, and would set the tradition of the post being held by a Goblin.

The Werewolves and Vampyres were granted rights of their own, and a general "live-and-let-live" policy was enacted. Free Wolfsbane Potion from the "Full Moon Trust," overseen by Remus Lupin coupled with equal status under the law, was reward enough for those who had remained neutral throughout the war.

The Goblins established the first Vampyre Blood Bank and made available to the Vampyres who had gradually returned to the country in the aftermath of the war. Their strength, skill and talents were prodigious and at the cusp of the new millennium, they became equals under the law.

The House Elves continued to serve as servants, but were better treated than ever before. The Protectorate Laws enforced prevented mistreatment of House Elves, and even mandated days off and rest periods for them should the Elves themselves decide they wanted a day off – an incredibly rare occurrence.

The last of the Dementors who had fled were ultimately found haunting the ruins of Azkaban. Harry personally commanded the operation that surrounded the ruined island, and systematically purged them from existence. Three days after "Operation Dark Storm" the island was bought by a private party and placed under a Fedilius Charm. The owner remains anonymous to this day.

The Potter Government also oversaw the founding of several new magical townships were born, including much to his chagrin "Potterville." The name made him cringe every time he heard it; perhaps it would make him cringe for eternity.

Those that survived the Siege were forever bonded as friends, and in their own way, as family. Harry and Fleur would be seen together as often as they were apart. Despite their love for each other, they never did quite get together, but they never quite fell apart either, leaving many wondering just what the full story was. They continued to call Potter Manor in Wales home for many years, and though the couple had no children of their own, they raised an orphanage of children who would go on to do many things, both great and mundane.

Neville Longbottom would struggle to come to terms with his loss, and his failure to protect the only woman he had loved. Despite the best efforts of his friends, Neville drifted away, resigning from Hogwarts after ten years. Five years later to the day, he vanished entirely. Despite reports of his eventual demise, there continued to be reports from non-magical folk of a "wild man" living in the depths of the Amazon rainforest matching his last known description.

Luna Lovegood eventually overcame her grief and by the strangest of quirks, was seduced on a night out by none other than Gabrielle Delacour. The couple would have a long happy relationship, and are parents to two boys who were born one week apart: Lorcan Delacour Lovegood and Lysander Lovegood Delacour. The names were a compromise of sorts which kept both parents happy. Their Uncle Harry would forever have his eye on the boys, who were the equivalent of the Pranks Master Generals – all three of them. The identity of the father was never confirmed though rumour persists that their "uncle" is in actual fact their "father." His refusal to take a paternity test continues to fuel the flames in many a gossip magazine.

The Prophet and The Quibbler would both continue, but after an extended period in decline, the Daily Prophet printed its final issue on the Anniversary of the Siege of Hogwarts on December 15th 2002. The Quibbler, under Luna Lovegood, coupled with the loyal readership of the Legion had sown the seeds of the Prophet's demise many years ago, and finally harvested their crop in the fullness of time.

In a world where the Legion had touched the lives of every Hogwarts student and in turn every adult, the wizarding world was rebuilt to follow the simple and basic tenant of the Legion: Loyalty and Honor before Profit. The world was rebuilt after twenty years of tireless toil, and it was a meritocracy based upon the highest of ideals, where the Light prospered in peace. Though it had necessitated force of arms, Wizard, Goblin, House Elf, Werewolf, Vampyre and Centaur, were equal at last. Harry Potter found himself content with life though he bore the scars, both upon his forehead and upon his soul for the rest of his days.

However, in a place, far removed from the Mortal realm, Hermione had watched and cried silent tears, wondering why. Why was he denied her in this way? She was not alone in her outrage. Sirius Black, Lily and James Potter, over a hundred Legionnaires hissed and snarled in anger. None could understand the injustice of it all. Where the justice that he so richly deserved? Where was the reward for all that he had suffered?

Both watched from a comparatively safe distance – hell hath no fury like a scorned woman with a twice broken heart after all.

"Should we tell her?" asked Destiny.

"Tell her what?" retorted Death, "That she has to wait a few thousand years for a possibility?"

"It should not be this way," countered Destiny, "His choices were always beyond our control. But he believes the prophecy that Tom perverted, making a possibility in to a certainty. Now all we have left to offer is the whisper of possibility."

Death shook its head, "We have a whisper of possibility. If he makes the choice, then he unmakes all that comes before the choice, unto when he… chooses to return. Thus is it even a choice?"

"You are asking me that question?" snorted Destiny, "I can only see the paths. I do not choose, and certainly cannot suggest the path any human should walk.

"Then let us review," said Death, as he sat down at a table, leaning back in to his chair, "these prophecies one final time." With a wave of its hand, the words of the Sybil Trelawney's prophecy floated up from the top of the table, to hang in the air:

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies …"_

Destiny nodded as a nod caused the words of the Stormseeker Clan's prophecy to float in mid-air, alongside the first:

"_Poisoned by the King of Serpents_

_Saved by the tears of the Light_

_A champion shall arise from amongst Champions_

_Saved by the tears of that which embodies the Light_

_He shall have the power to banish the seven times sundered soul of evil_

_Poisoned by King of Serpents_

_He shall have the power to remake the world to his will._

Love shall be the key: To salvation or damnation"

"Both Prophecies have been interpreted," said Death, "But were they interpreted correctly?"

Destiny shook his head, "They are not ours to interpret, and given the entwined nature of both prophecies, misinterpretation of one, can only lead to the same for the other. Thus Harry Potter walks a path that I foresaw. Now… it is down to him, to decide, what the future shall hold, for the past."

Death nodded towards the crying Hermione and enraged everyone else, gathered around offering silent support, "So we are right back where we started: Do we give her this, faintest glimmer of a shred of hope?"

Time marched inexorably onward. The Legionnaires were the government, and the government became the Legion. Magical Britain had become the powerhouse and beacon of hope. In many ways, it was Britain that would drag the rest of the wizarding world well and truly in to the 21st and then the 22nd Centuries respectively. It had reached the point where foreign governments looked to Britain for guidance in setting their own laws. Harry had retired but still kept an eye on things from a distance. He never got involved unless consulted, but he did his level best to be true to the Legion's Code of Honor.

The reunion to commemorate what they called, "The Siege," took place every year in Early December, always on a weekend and they were perhaps the most well attended event that Hogwarts hosted. But it was always a private event held in the Great Hall. Students of the proceeding generations had sneaked a glance in but had never been allowed to enter. For many of the Legionnaires, it was all the therapy that they needed. But as time marched on, fewer and fewer of the "old guard" would attend, and as time marched on, Harry Potter was forced to say farewell to his friends, one by one and the reason was perhaps the most bitter of all: Voldemort was right.

The House-elves, Dobby and Winky finally settled down together to raise a family of their own, following their own biological urges. For their kind, procreation was about getting the best possible mate in life, and to raise their young to continue serving their house when the parents became too old to serve. Suffice to say that when Dobby and Winky finally passed in the early 2100s, they were buried with full honours as Legionnaires, and laid to rest in the Potter Family graveyard of Godric's Hollow. Their descents would continue to serve House Potter, and Harry himself for many generations to come.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall died, perhaps fittingly in Hogwarts in her own bed. Having stayed up late to sort the budget for the 2055 academic year, when she felt the overwhelming urge to take a cat nap. She passed away in her sleep, content with life. Her final day as Headmistress involved lunch with her staff, tea with Harry and a word of advice for the new Professor of Herbology, Swiss-German Juliana Marcotti, of Switzerland and a quiet evening gathering with the few members of the Legion Core.

Luna and Gabrielle together took over the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley and were frequent guest lecturers at Hogwarts for Care of Magical Creatures. The two would explore the Castle, and regularly discovered parts of the Castle that had been banned to students during her youth. It was during one such late night exploration, that the couple discovered the Mirror of Erised. The couple gazed in to it together, looked at each other, smiled and walked away easily. Gabrielle was happy and where she was, Luna knew that Colin would have only wanted her to be happy. And she was.

Fleur Delacour, the second love and life partner of the Man –Who-Survived, was laid to rest on the 17th of April 2099. She was buried alongside her mother and father in the Delacour Mausoleum on the grounds of the rebuilt Delacour Mansion. She died in a freak accident on the streets of Muggle Paris within walking distance of the Eiffel Tower, when a muggle driver lost control of his vehicle and slammed in to Fleur from behind. She was one of six killed that fateful day.

Harry James Potter had not aged a day in looks since the early 2020s. He was the same as he had ever been. He was the leader of Light and still advised the government when called upon – a rare occurrence – as he was either training the next generation of Legionnaires or spoiling his nephews and nieces rotten when their parents were not looking. Inside however, he was an old soul. Nightmares haunted his sleep nearly a hundred years after the end of his personal war.

He was never the perfect soldier, without feeling. Fleur had been right, those years ago in the entrance hall of Hogwarts when she had talked about war, bringing out the beast within. The world was at peace due to the sacrifices that he had endured, that his Legion had made. He had learned to live with the consequences of his actions, not just as a warrior who had killed the enemy, but as a commander who had given orders that had led to the deaths of so many of his own. The ghosts would visit him, but he had done his best to make sure that they were mostly friendly.

The government remained strong and incredibly powerful. It had been dubbed the "Atlantis of the 21st Century." It was a place of peace, prosperity and home to the Light. It was also armed to the teeth and ready for war at a moment's notice. Many questioned why Minister Potter had never set out to conquer the world, to spread the Light of Wizarding Britain. He had replied that "The Legion is composed of men and women that employ force of arms to protect and defend. Where we can we repair and mend the damage that is caused, that we cause. Legion is not right. The Legion is and always will be a necessary evil. Being right does not follow from having the force of arms to enforce our will, our views and our ideals. The Legion fights to preserve and protect so that we grow and prosper in relative peace. The Legion is a weapon that is strong, powerful and deadly because it does what is right." Harry himself firmly believed that he could conquer the world, but the last thing he wanted was to rule in a matter befitting his now long dead nemesis.

In the ensuing years, many a fledgling Dark Lord would find Harry Potter knocking on their front door moments before a Legion storm assault crushed them and their dreams of conquest. The tales of his tenacity and courage quickly became the stuff of legend as he led from the front, never asking any of his legionnaires to do things he himself would not do. He led assaults without fear, killing without mercy. Some said that he knew no fear. After Fleur passed, the whispers evolved, stating that he was fearlessly seeking a curse that would reunite him with his loved ones.

Harry had dedicated his life to rebuilding the Wizarding World and had succeeded beyond the wildest dreams of anyone. His long life had left him disillusioned but he continued to honour the Legion vow that he had made so long ago: He was one of the few that would always stand against the Darkness and crush it mercilessly. His disillusionment stemmed from all that he had lost and sacrificed, and return been rewarded with precisely everything that he did not want, and nothing that he did want.

The calendar date was Friday the 22nd of August, 2435, when an interesting proposal crossed the aged solid oak desk in the private sanctum of Harry Potter in Potter Manor. It came from a muggle born who though limited in power, was unmatched in brains. To Harry, she would be the Hermione Granger of her generation but even he could barely grasp what the proposal said besides the title: "Practical Applications of Time Travel."

The proposal languished on his desk for some weeks, but it was never out of his mind. He would find himself musing over the title repeated, wondering if it was possible, whether it could work, whether it could be done. He woke up, having dreamt of its success, of being able to see, touch, hold her again, like his entire life from the night in the graveyard of Little Haggleton was nothing more than a centuries long nightmare.

He reread the proposal, met with its proposer, Samantha Stark and decided that the Phoenix Foundation would fund the project, and damn hell the cost. He still had more money than he knew what to do with, and that was mostly thanks to the Goblins. He basically owned half the Wizarding World and maybe one-sixth of the Muggle World as well.

The project, took a further seven years to go from concept to drawing board and on to the first prototype. Thirteen years later, the final prototype and working machine was built on an island in an undisclosed and damn near impossible to access location. Millions had been spent preparing the site. Billions had been spent on procuring the raw materials and shaping them in to the components necessary for the monumental task of not only creating a quantum window to view the past, but also a tunnel to visit that same past.

However, none wanted to jeopardize the present, by accidentally changing the past, something that Harry Potter was in absolute agreement with. The protocols in place meant only the most trustworthy even knew about the project, and even fewer knew what all the components were or where the site was located. Never mind that the entire complex was secured and patrolled by the Goblins who were cleared to use lethal force.

None questioned that Harry Potter was allowed to view and use the equipment, given that he was the principal source of funds. So when he went through the protocols and entered the Control Matrix Chamber, none questioned his presence. It was too late to question him he silently and wandless cast a Bubblehead Charm upon himself moment before everyone slumped over, snoring away. With a few flicks of his hands, everyone was levitated out, and propped up against the far wall. "Alnwick," said Harry clearly, "Initiate Code Black. Potter, Harry James. Master Override. Situation One."

"Understood Mr. Potter," replied Alwick moments before the chamber sealed itself, the doorway itself become a part of a solid stone wall some ten feet thick It was too late to ask what the hell he was doing as he punched in the temporal equations necessary to open the quantum observation window to observe the past. Working swiftly he amended the equation to open what should be the Tunnel he wanted: His past.

The physics was beyond him, and no one really knew what would happen once he stepped through. Some believed he would explode, some believed he would implode. But one thing was believed by all: Those who survive the journey would be a god – assuming that the Quantum Tunnel would protect him during his trip, allowing his future self to erase his past self before he took its shape and form, without losing any of his magic or abilities - that was the theory at any rate.

He could hear alarm sirens blaring through the complex. He could see them on the viewing matrix: They were unleashing all hell trying desperate to break in to the chamber. He shook his head. No. There was no stopping him. Satisfied with his preparations, he flicked his wrist, depositing a Detonator Crystal on every console and work station, followed by a wide area Contego shield which bracketed the entire wall and doorway.

He felt, more than heard the rumble as the fusion reactors fired up, to provide the necessary mass to power the quantum capacitors. The capacitors would in turn begin the matter/anti-matter reaction, which would be used to "cut" a hole in space and time.

Arcs of lightning flared from the emitters in the heavyweight doorway structure. They arced wildly through the air, barely controlled or contained before the electromagnetics stabilized and grounded the flaring arcs, channelling the energies until the archway was filled with blue-black gauze like film, reminiscent of a chamber and doorway in the bowels of the Ministry, guarded by the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries.

Harry levitated a number of incredibly large, 50 carat Diamonds in to position around the gateway itself. Each had been infused with as much magical power as they could. Each contained enough energy to power a muggle home for at least six months, and six hundred carats of diamonds would be more than enough if his calculations were correct. He heard a separate rumble as the wall crumbled. He looked over his shoulder at the gathered flock of researchers, technicians and guards who were literally bleating with fear:

"We can't breech the shield!"

"Get identification on that intruder!"

"The Tunnel is active!"

"Sweet Merlin! He's stepping through!" The last was part scream, part screech and gathered the attention of everyone watching.

"He can't! We don't know what can happen!" It was the voice of Samantha Stark, the project's administrator and lead scientist cut through everything, "Alnwick! Master Shutdown! Stark principal override Terminus Est!"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Stark. All authority codes have been superseded by Code Black." Alnwick was almost as old as Harry himself, and was essentially the magical computer that kept a myriad of things running. The original had governed Potter Manor. This was a more "advanced" copy of the dated original.

The detonator crystals exploded all at once. They were small enough that the blast of each was localized to a diameter of less than eighteen inches. But they served their purpose: Destroying the entire command and control system for the gateway. No one would be able to stop him or follow him as the matter/antimatter reaction had become self-sustaining.

"No! No! No!" screamed Stark, "He will destroy everything!"

True enough. But then, once he stepped through, none of this would exist anyway. He stared at the doorway, and was gratified to see exactly what he had hoped to see. The read out on the doorway display indicated that the date and time were both correct as well. He could see a young boy, thin, starved and underfed, curled up on a camp bed beneath a staircase with a single thin blanket draped over him.

With a final flick of his hand, a further half a dozen Devastator Crystals snapped on to the key support points of the doorway itself. With a near wistful smile on his face, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, The Man-Who-Conquered took one step forward, stepping in to the time stream. Moments after, the crystals detonated, obliterating the doorway behind him.

But it did not matter as the project, the Phoenix Foundation, and the Legion itself vanished from existence. The pathways of destiny and fate that had been taken were unmade. Those crippled and maimed regained full use of their limbs. Those born in the years of peace were unmade. Most importantly, the long dead were returned to life.

Death watched as history was unwritten before its eyes. Destiny was forced to literally erase entire volumes from the Book of Fate, and emptied shelves in the Archive of Time. She raised her head to stare at Death, "A glimmer of a whisper of hope you once said?"

Death smiled demurely, "Something like that." He drew his scythe and a whetstone of darkest obsidian glass and began to sharpen the edge of his blade, "And so, Harry James Potter we shall all have to begin anew."

Where the door to the cupboard under the stairs once stood, there was the sound of tearing fabric followed by streams of blue, white and black light the lashed back and forth across the narrow confined space of the cupboard. The waving lights latched on to something familiar, something similar: The small boy asleep on the bed. He was vaporised in an instant, never to be seen or heard of ever again.

Harry did not step through, so much as get thrown through and he screamed, a soundless cry as his body sought to cope with the physics behind both the physical and mental trauma. His body seemed to crack, bend, and break and turn itself inside out as it reformed itself in to the copy of the little boy who had slept in the cupboard just a few minutes ago.

The light faded, the pain became a deep bone numbing throb, but he was otherwise intact and whole. He took stock of the situation and picked up the glasses and balanced them on his nose. Blinking rapidly he mused that he would have to get his eyes fixed as soon as possible. The strapless watch lay on what passed as his bedside table stated the time was 11:59pm on the 30th of July, 1991.

He flexes the fingers on his hands, "Alohamora," he whispered, and to his complete lack of surprise, the cupboard door unlocked itself and swung open, creaking slightly on its hinges.

He smiled, "A Legion is born of those who pledged their lives, to live free of chains," he said, "borne to life upon wings of honour." One month, and he would see the women he had loved for over two hundred years again.

"Oath sworn and honour bound, Legionnaires will stand and be recognized when the shadow of Darkness falls." He continued the oath, like he had only sworn it yesterday. Less than a month and he would be returning to the first place he had truly called home.

He stared out the living room window of Number 4, Privet Drive. War was already coming and this time, Harry vowed silently, it would be different. "I am Legion, ready for when war is waged"


End file.
